


The Whumptober, Double Feature, Fic-ture Show:  Jack

by SabbyStarlight



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: 2x07, 3x11, A bomb in a cave, Abandonment Issues, Allergy Tests, And the show might have forgotten it, Angst, Appendicitis, Blood, Broken Bones, Brotherly Banter, Bullets and Banter, Burns, But we didn't, Canon-Typical Violence, Concussions, Dehydration, Duct Tape+Jack Tag, Emotional Manipulation, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e14 Mardi Gras Beads + Chair, Eye Injuries, Feel free to pick a favorite because I still can't decide which one I love more, Gen, Guilty Mac, Hidden Injury, Hospitals, Hurt Jack, Hurt/Comfort, If yesterday's concussed Jack was grumpy, Jack Dalton is a badass competent agent, Jack can't talk, Kinda, Mac driving, Mac+Fallout+Jack, Missing Scene, Missing Scenes, Mission Gone Wrong, Misunderstandings and even more angst, Needles, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Phoenix Med, Sandbox Days, Separation Anxiety, Sick Jack, Sleep Deprivation, Slight Feral!Mac, Stitches, Today's concussed Jack is cuddly and adorable, Whump, Winter-related injuries, bee stings, bullet wounds, even more angst, field medicine, heat exhaustion, is that not a tag yet?, surrogate dad Jack Dalton, temporary loss of vision, that's it that's the fic, what could go wrong?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 59,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26747434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabbyStarlight/pseuds/SabbyStarlight
Summary: Happy Whumptober!!!Welcome to the home of thirty-one new hurt Jack fics!Prompt 31: Today's Special:  Torture!
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 182
Kudos: 85
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Let's Hang Out Sometime

“Any time, hoss,” Jack’s voice was thick despite his attempt at nonchalance. “Any time you wanna get me down from here, that’d be great.”

“I’m trying,” Mac winced as the bark of the tree he was climbing bit into the palm of his hand. “Can’t cut the rope down if I can’t reach it.”

“What's that?” Jack called. “Can’t hear you. You know why? Cause my ears are on my head, which is all the way down here!”

“Think you can hear just fine,” Mac muttered around the knife held between his teeth. He finally reached the branch that had the coil of rope wound around it, the rope that was currently holding his partner, upside down, in a well placed trap neither one of them had seen until he was too late. “Hang on, I’ll get you down in just a minute.”

“What would you like me to hold on to, genius? Think this rope’s doin’ all that work for me. Just get me down!”

“I’m trying,” Mac pried open his knife and began sawing at the rope. “This isn’t exactly the ideal place to test out how sharp I got this blade the last time I sharpened it.”

“You’re tellin’ me! I’m the one swingin’ from my ankles here! Get me the hell down!”

“You wana switch places? Cause you’ve got a rope keeping you from falling. I’m up here balancing on a branch, hoping it doesn’t break under both our weight.”

He knew Mac was really only matching his own tone, complaining when it was his turn, keeping up his share of their banter, but he was making some valid points and his kid really did hate heights. It was enough of a reminder to make Jack push through the rush of blood whooshing through his ears and the pounding pressure headache that was already pounding behind his eyes and shift his attention to Mac. “Sorry, kid. Keep on doin’ your thing. I’m alright. Gettin’ a little sea sick, and I’m not sure how straight my aims gonna be if I have to shoot at whoever strung me up like this, but you just take your time and don’t go tumblin’ off that branch.”

“Can’t be sea sick,” Mac argued, without even really realizing he was doing it. “Not on the water. “Motion sick, maybe. But it’s probably just your equilibrium being all screwed up from being inverted. Try closing your eyes.”

“Now that’s a downright dumb idea,” Jack rolled his eyes, which was also a dumb idea on his part, but he wasn’t going to mention that fact out loud. “How’m I supposed to keep us safe if I can’t see?”

“Same way you thought you could keep us safe hanging upside down from a tree,” Mac shrugged, finally sawing through half of the wide rope and pausing to brush his hair out of his eyes. “Not your best plan. Don’t know why you always go complaining about my ideas when you turn around and do this.”

“Not like I planned it, kid.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Mac sighed, scanning the horizon, making sure there were no incoming threats before taking a moment to lean over the branch, looking down at his slowly swaying partner, face growing redder by the moment. “If it’s any consolation, I’m almost done up here.”

“Yeah?” Jack sent himself swaying even harder, twisting and causing a flutter of early autumn leaves to rain down around him as the branch shook, trying to curl forward enough to see Mac. “Well, be careful, but I wouldn’t hate it if you hurried up and got me outta here.”

“Stop flopping around,” Mac admonished, grabbing on to the rope below the unraveling knife cut, trying to hold it still before he continued sawing. “Do you want me to slice a finger off or something?”

“Don’t you even go joking about something like that,” Jack growled, stilling his movements instantly. “That ain’t funny.”

“Got you to stop moving though,” Mac smirked. “Okay, I’m over half-way done.”

“Well, that’s good and all, but I kinda need another half-way past half-way before I get un-topsy-turvied.”

“Not exactly,” Mac huffed a breath, blowing a wayward strand of hair out of his eyes again, not wanting to stop and take the time to push it back into order. “This rope’s strong, but it’s not gonna hold up forever. Eventually, your weight’s going to be enough to make it finish unraveling on it’s own.”

“You callin’ me fat?”

“I’m saying that gravity’s a bitch and you need to brace yourself because any minute now you’re probably going to-”

His lecture was interrupted, his warning coming a few breaths too late, as the rope snapped and Jack went crashing to the ground with a thump and several yelped curse words.

“Fall,” Mac finished with a sigh. “Don’t move, let me make sure you didn’t break anything,” He ordered, flipping his knife closed and tucked it safely back into his pocket before he began to climb back down the tree, choosing to jump the last few feet instead of risking scraping his hands up on the rough bark.

“Thanks for the warning, kid,” Jack complained, rubbing at the back of his head. “Really appreciated it.”

“I tried,” Mac crouched down beside him, reaching out and unraveling the remainders of the rope tied around Jack’s ankles. “You okay?”

“No I ain’t okay, I just fell out of a damn tree.”

“You fell maybe three feet,” Mac smiled. “I’m not sure that really qualifies. So if you’re not actually hurt, maybe we should get out of here before whoever set this trap comes back to see if he caught anyone?”

“Not sure my feet are workin’ at the moment,” Jack squinted over at him. “Can’t feel nothin’ but pins and needles, you know, cause I was just left hangin’ upside down from ‘em.”

“Blood will start circulating faster if you sit up. Think you’re up to that?”

“No,” Jack grumbled, complaining about the suggestion even as he began propping himself up on his elbows. “Whole world’s spinnin’. My head feels like the inside of a blender, sound effects and razor blades and all.”

“Alright,” Mac grabbed an outreached hand and helped Jack pull himself to sitting, quickly moving to brace Jack as he swayed once he was upright. “We’ll go slow.”

“Remind me not to do that again,” Jack mumbled against the cool leather of Mac’s jacket as he buried his face in the younger man’s shoulder, trying to regain some semblance of balance. “Cause hittin’ the reset button is not fun, dude.”

“No more hanging upside down from tree limbs,” Mac nodded. “Got it. I’ll add that to the list.”

“From anything,” Jack corrected. “You know how I always said it’d be cool to be SpiderMan, just for like, a weekend? Yeah, I was wrong.”

“I’ll notify Marvel as soon as we get home,” Mac teased. “They’re only allowed to recruit you for roles that don’t require acrobatic stunts.”

“Ugh, we need to move, don’t we?” Jack groaned, forcing himself to stop leaning against Mac and sit up, squinting through the headache still pounding away with every heartbeat.

“If you feel up to it, yeah,” Mac admitted. “I mean, we were kinda being chased. And we’re kinda out in the open here.”

“Alright, help me up. Let’s get out of here.”

“Slow,” Mac warned as he clambered to standing and reached out a hand to assist Jack up. “Hurling’s only gonna make you feel worse.”

“Let’s not talk about that, yeah?” Jack winced as he finally made it to his feet, stumbling as he tried to take a shaky step, grasping tightly to Mac’s arm as his legs fought to hold him up. “Cause if we talk about it, it’s gonna happen.”

“Feeling better and getting to exfil without stepping onto any more traps, then,” Mac decided, ducking beneath one of Jack’s arms and shouldering some of the older man’s weight as they began the arduous process of convincing Jack’s legs that they still knew how to walk.

“Maybe I should walk back to the plane on my hands,” Jack said as they carefully examined the ground before they stepped wherever there was a chance for another rope to be hidden. “That way if we land on another one It’ll flip me right-side-up this time.”

“Or we could just, I don’t know, not get caught in a rope snare again?” Mac suggested with a smile. “That seems like the better plan.”

“Well it ain’t like I was plannin’ on it the first time ‘round. Not fun. I really don’t recommend it.”

“I don’t think that’s really something anyone plans for. Though with us? You never know.”

“True,” Jack nodded. It might have been the headache playing tricks with his eyes, but he thought if he squinted just right he could see the reflection of the exfil plane through the treeline ahead of them. “But I think our luck might be starting to flip,” He grinned, knowing how much Mac loved his puns. “Things seem to be _turning_ in our favor. You know, _flipping_ back around?”

“Well, if you’re feeling okay enough to make stupid jokes then I don’t have to worry too much,” Mac rolled his eyes, not willing to admit how reassuring his partner’s familiar, if questionably funny, sense of humor truly was. “But I still vote for not doing a repeat of this one. Once was enough.”

“Couldn’t agree more, hoss. Couldn’t agree more.”


	2. In The Hands Of The Enemy

**“Honestly? Asking Jack to bleed into a bag was the hardest part.”**

“Okay,” Mac bit back a wince as he braced his hands on his knees and pushed himself up to standing, ignoring the pull as his ribs protested. They weren’t broken, just bruised, Jack had checked as soon as he remembered the car slamming into Mac’s side of their rental, but it didn’t stop them from hurting. “You ready for the part of the plan that you’re really not gonna like?”

“Usin’ what little strength we’ve got left to build this catapult thingy so we can pretend to screw up and crush my chest, resulting in you pretending to shoot me and me, hopefully, pretending to die isn’t the part I’m gonna hate the most?” Jack peered across the contraption they had just built, exhaustion weighing heavy in his gaze. “What else you cookin’ up?”

“It’s gotta look real,” Mac turned his back away from the camera, digging through the meager supplies left behind, trying to find a piece of plastic that had held up after decades in the fallout shelter. “When the blank goes off.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jack sighed, stepping closer so they wouldn’t be overheard. “This whole thing is hinging on my acting skills.”

“Yeah,” Mac smiled, glancing down at the knife in his hand with guilt, trying to make his tired brain remember back to the last time he had cleaned the blade. It was sharp enough, sure, but far from sterile. “But um, we’re gonna need some special effects to make it believable. And we’re fresh out of red ink and chocolate sauce.”

Jack closed his eyes, letting his head drop back with a heavy sigh, balancing off tense shoulders. “Blood. We need blood.”

“Yeah,” Mac agreed with a sigh of his own. “Sorry.”

“Wait a second now,” The apology, and the implication behind it, were enough to snap Jack’s eyes back open as he fixed a wary gaze on Mac. “Who says it’s gotta be my blood? We don’t gotta go that authentic, dude. And I’m already takin’ one for the team here by gettin’ pounded in the chest with this hunk of metal.” He slapped a hand against the empty tank for emphasis.

“I know,” Mac placated, wishing there was a better option. “But nothing about this situation is ideal, man. And I’m the one who has to be working the pull system. Facing the camera. It’s gonna be a little suspicious if I’m bleeding all over things.”

“I’ve taken the same field medicine courses you have, probably more of ‘em over the years, actually.” Jack frowned. “And a sniper’s hands are just as steady as your little bomb nerds are, as much as you seem to like forgettin’ that. I can tap a vein just as good as you can. Toss me that med kit and roll up a sleeve. Left or right, donor’s choice.”

“There’s not a start kit in it, Jack, this thing’s ancient,” He halfheartedly kicked a bare foot towards the faded red bag in their meager pile of supplies. “Besides, we’re so dehydrated at this point I don’t know if it would even do us any good. Gonna have to do this the old fashioned way. And I need both my hands to pull the lever into place.”

Jack let out an annoyed growl and ran both hands across his face and up over his hair in frustration. “Have I mentioned lately how much I hate this, dude? Because I really, really hate this.”

“I know,” Mac agreed. “But we’re, hopefully, getting out of here with this, right? That’s why we’re doing it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack grumbled, stepping closer and casually throwing a glance over his shoulder, making sure they were obstructing the view from the camera watching their every move. “I still don’t like it.”

Mac held out his knife with a sympathetic smile.

“Seriously?” Jack turned to him with raised eyebrows. “That’s what we’re doin’ this with?”

“You have a better option?” Mac asked, genuinely hoping, though he knew there wasn’t, that Jack would come up with one.

“No,” Jack huffed. “Don’t s’pose there’s any of those handy little alcohol wipes in that med bag, is there?”

“If there were, I’m sure they’d be long dried out by now.”

“True. You know, I hate havin’ to use ‘em, but man, do I miss Phoenix stocked kits right now. Those things are hella convenient in times like this. Those instant ice pack thingies, pre-strung needles, bug spray, finger splints, all the different sizes of butterfly bandages?”

“Hey,” Mac interrupted his rambling. “You know that thing you do where you run your mouth to stall for time and procrastinate? Yeah, you’re doing it now. You want me to...” He nodded towards the knife in Jack’s hand. If they stayed in their current position, shoulder to shoulder with their backs to the camera, for much longer things would start to look even more suspicious than they already did.

“Naw,” Jack shook his head. “Otherwise you’re gonna go and get that haunted, guilty look in your eyes whenever I forget to act like it don’t hurt for the next few days.”

“Pretty sure that little cut’s gonna be the least of your worries, buddy,” Mac smiled, not bothering to pretend that Jack wasn’t right and that was exactly what was going to happen.

“Gimmie that too,” Jack held out his free hand for the scrap of plastic Mac hand managed to save. “We’re gonna be cuttin’ it close to have enough to make this look believable anyway, don’t need to waste a drop. And I’m only doin’ this once.”

Before Mac had a chance to rethink his haphazardly formed plan or to change his mind and offer up his own hand, Jack squared his shoulders and slowly drew the blade across his palm, squinting his eyes closed for the briefest of moments before prying them back open to position his bleeding hand above the plastic in his other. “This better work,” He hissed between clenched teeth as gravity pulled the blood down in a steady stream from Jack’s tightly curled fist.

“It will,” Mac assured, watching as the blood began to slow, splattering into the bag in Jack’s steady hand in drops until it stopped altogether. He hoped it was enough. “It will.”

He hoped he was right.


	3. My Way Or The Highway

"I don't like this plan," Mac called, stretching as much as he could to peer out the open window at his left, trying to get a clear view of his partner who was crouched on the roof of the car without compromising his driving as he steered it down the, thankfully empty, freeway. 

"Yeah, well I don't like you bein' there behind the wheel," Jack yelled back, voice able to reach the interior of the car thanks to the open sun-roof he had crawled out of moments earlier. "Makin' me real nervous. But I'm gonna suck it up and deal with it, so you are too." 

"Sitting on the roof of a car flying down the road but me being the one driving is what has him nervous," Mac muttered to himself before growing concerned that he was starting to talk to himself. Another bad habit he had picked up from his partner. 

"Damn right it is!" Jack answered. 

There was no way he had actually heard Mac's complaint, him having read the younger man's mind was more likely. Mac couldn't help but smile. "You don't worry about me, just focus on not falling!" 

"Then you focus on getting us there in one piece," Jack called back, pulling the small security tracker out of his shirt pocket and gripping it tightly in his hand, swaying with the rhythm of the vehicle beneath him, anticipating movements and adjusting his weight accordingly. It was almost like surfing. 

Jack hated surfing. 

Didn't mean he couldn't do it though, if the occasion called for it. He was an official resident of SoCal, after all. "I see the lights from the overpass, Mac. Think we might actually make it on time." 

"Don't get your hopes up," Mac warned, focusing his sights on the quickly approaching two-lane overpass stretched across the vacant road ahead of them. "I hate this plan." 

"You got a better way to get this little doohickey stuck to that there hunk of road so we can get evidence that the drug runners we're trackin' are usin' this route?" 

Mac opened his mouth, fully prepared to answer, maybe even a little snarkier than usual, that he did, in fact, have a better idea. Several, actually. He didn't get a chance to begin listing them, Jack managing the impressive feat of interrupting him before he had even begun to speak. 

"That we can make happen within the next," A pause while Jack looked at the timer that was all too quickly ticking down on his watch. "Three minutes?" 

That detail, Mac did not have a solution for. 

"Cause that's as long as Matty can keep this road closed off for," Jack reminded him. "And if we miss getting tonight's run recorded we'll have to wait a whole 'nother month before they swing through again. So we're relying on my baseball skills for this one." 

Mac blew out a frustrated huff. He really hated their current plan. But, as much as he also hated to admit it, Jack was right. They didn't have the time to come up with a better one, so they were going with Jack car-surfing down a freeway Matty had thankfully diverted all other traffic away from, with a single shot chance at success on their latest crazy mission. 

So basically, just another typical Tuesday night. 

"It'll stick, no problem," Mac reminded Jack, unfastening his seat belt to be able to lean out the sunroof a little further, giving himself a clear view of Jack's boots. "Don't go trying to pull off some impressive trick-shot. Aim, throw, and you get back in here while those magnets do all the hard work."

"Cause this ain't hard," Jack grumbled, taking his eyes off the target just long enough to send a glare Mac's way. His annoyance turned real though, when he saw that Mac was driving without the safety belt. 

“Why don’t you have your damn belt on? Buckle up before you go through that windshield, dude.”

“Pretty sure if anyone’s gonna get hurt here it’s gonna be the guy on the roof,” Mac protested, dropping back into his seat and snapping the seatbelt back on. “Our target’s coming up,” He called, eyes locked on the quickly-approaching overpass. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Jack nodded, curling and uncurling his fingers over the metallic ball in his hand. “Bottom of the ninth, bases are loaded. Dalton’s up to bat.”

“Shouldn’t you be on the pitcher’s mound in this metaphor?”

“Now why you gotta go interrupting a perfectly good pep talk, for?” Jack scolded. “I was setting the scene.”

“Fine, sorry,” Mac smirked. “Peanuts and crackerjacks and sticky stadium seats. All those fun things.”

“We should go to a game soon. ‘Fore the season ends.”

“Maybe if we can get this one done without incident Matty will give us an evening off.” It really had been a while since they had been able to catch a game. Mac hadn’t realized how much he missed it until Jack had brought it up. But they had other things to think about first. “Stay focused.”

“I got this,” Jack assured, though Mac had to wonder if he was reassuring Mac or still hyping himself up as the shadow of the overpass inched closer to the front of the car.

“He shoots,” Jack called, winding up the throw and the tracking device smacked against the sign announcing the nearest exits with a clank, metal hitting metal, and stayed put. “He scores!”

“Wrong sport. We've got a while to wait before basketball picks back up,” Mac laughed, a sense of relief rushing over him. That relief quickly abated as a flash of headlights cut through the darkness, heading their way.

“The hell?” Jack exclaimed, adrenaline high deflating as he watched the car hurtling towards them, swerving from lane to lane on the wrong side of the road.

“Get in here,” Mac called, taking one hand off the wheel to thump against the roof of the car. “Get in here before he hits us.”

“Think he’s drunk,” Jack complained, dropping back to a crouch. “What happened to Matty rerouting traffic off this road?”

“Seeing as how he doesn’t know enough to drive the right way? I don’t think he cares. Why are you still up there?”

“I’m workin’ on it, I’m workin’ on it,” Jack assured, moving slowly as he tried to keep his balance without taking his eyes off the quickly approaching car. “These old knees don’t work as fast as they used to.”

“I don’t care, get in here!” Mac was beginning to panic. The oncoming car was close enough that he could see the driver, silhouetted against the streetlights lining the road.

“You just keep swervin’ outta his way,” Jack winced as he scrambled to find purchase on the slippery roof of the car as Mac changed lanes. “I’m fi-”

The other driver must have realized what was about to happen. Mac swore he saw the other man’s eyes widen in fear, though when pressed he wouldn’t be able to describe any more features other than the whites of his eyes, as the car sped up instead of breaking and lurched towards them. Mac moved them out of the path, the cars passing so close to one another that their side mirrors clipped each other and went tumbling to the highway below.

Unfortunately, so did Jack.

He didn’t waste time trying to get a plate number or even noticing the make and model of the car. His sole priority was Jack and only Jack as he slammed on the breaks and threw his door open, cursing the fact that he had listened to Jack and fastened his seat belt back into place when he had to waste precious seconds unbuckling it.

By the time Mac made it around the car, Jack, to his relief, was sitting up.

“Calm down, hoss,” he offered a shaky smile. “I didn’t go splat.”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. You did great. I know I give you a hard time about bein’ a danger when you get behind the wheel but I’m the one who ran you through those driving courses,” Jack’s mind reeled back to those early days after signing up to work with DXS. The kid hadn’t had much experience driving. Mission City was small enough that while he got his permit, it was just as easy for Mac to walk everywhere he wanted to go and he hadn’t had access to a car of his own at MIT. Jack wasn’t about to trust just any supervisor to be in charge of Mac’s tactical and evasive driving training. He had taken the responsibility onto his own shoulders and despite his teasing and preference to be the one in the driver’s seat, Mac was as good as anyone when he was given the chance. “You did everything right.”

“You fell,” Mac couldn’t quite erase the hysteria from his voice as he ran a hand through his hair in stress, eyes darting between Jack and the car behind them.

“Nah, not quite,” A corner of Jack’s mouth twitched up in a smirk. “You’re the physics guru here, think about it. If I ended up biting asphalt ‘cause of you where would I have ended up?”

Mac frowned as he processed what Jack was saying. “O-over the hood,” he determined, turning back to the still-idling car as if to double-check and make sure that wasn’t the case.

“Figured I stood a better chance of survivin’ it if I went off the side instead of under the wheels,” Jack shrugged, wincing at the movement. “You’re beatin’ yourself up about it enough already, I’d hate to know how upset you’d be if you actually ran me over.”

“You probably wouldn’t be sitting there to find out,” Mac closed his eyes for a moment, trying to push that image out of his already too-crowded mind. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Depends on how you define okay,” Jack answered, unable to make himself meet Mac’s eyes as he slowly lifted his arm, wrist bent at an unnatural angle, hand hanging limply beneath the leather of his wrist cuff. “But it could be a whole lot worse.”

Mac grimaced and before he knew it he had dropped to his knees beside his partner, holding his own hands out expectantly, waiting to examine the damage for himself. “What’d you do, land on it?”

“Think so,” Jack watched as Mac carefully turned his arm over in his soft grip, trying not to jerk away from the pain. “I was mainly just trying not to land on my face. Didn't want to break the money-maker, you know?”

"That's your bad one already though," Mac frowned, biting his lip as he carefully began unsnapping the familiar worn piece of leather from around the already-swelling joint. 

Jack shrugged. "Maybe this will end up being a good thing. Get it fixed right this time." 

"That's not exactly how repairing old injuries works," Mac shook his head. "You probably only managed to make the original one worse. But there's no way to know until we go get you checked out." 

"Yeah," Jack tucked the wrist cuff into his shirt pocket when Mac handed it to him and looked down at his wrist with a wince. "This one looks like it's earned a Med visit. Probably won't be rockin' that awesome cuff for a while."

"C'mon," Mac stood up, dusting his hands off on his thighs before reaching out to help Jack up. "Let's go. Um, are you gonna throw a complete fit if I don't let you drive us back in onehanded?" 

"Naw," Jack smiled, giving Mac's hand a reassuring squeeze before letting it go and heading towards the idling car. "After all that fancy driving? You earned it."


	4. Running Out Of Time

There is a puff of dust that clouds around Mac, sending him coughing as he hits the ground. It’s more for show than anything, the gritty particles of air were hardly the worst accommodations he had dealt with over the years, but it did the job of hiding the groan of being slammed into the hard-packed dirt floor. A sound that would instantly send his partner to worrying, which was something he was trying to prevent. The silence from Jack was alarming. Even a coughing spree would have triggered his protective side, let alone seeing Mac roughly thrown into the cell.

“I do not know why you are here,” His captor sneered, kicking up a fresh round of dust and sending it Mac’s way once the first wave had settled. “But I am sure it was a decision you will soon be regretting.” He slammed the door to the cell behind him as he left.

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Mac muttered, wiping a hand across his face, wincing at the sting of the quickly-forming bruise on his cheek, and up through his hair as he got his first look around the cell. His brain filed away information, as it always did, without him even trying. Measurements and distances and possible escape routes, which were, admittedly, limited to the tiny window far above his reach and the door that had locked behind him, but it was still good to have an inventory of sorts. He wasn’t focused on those things though. Not yet. His attention went solely to the body slumped on its side in the far corner of the room. Dark denim so streaked with dust that his jeans nearly blended into the floor and if Mac hadn’t seen it countless times over the years he wouldn’t have been able to recognize Jack’s sixth favorite Metallica shirt, but it was rising, steadily, with every breath, even if the man wearing it wasn’t aware of what was happening around him yet, and it was enough to cause a wave of relief to wash over Mac, more at peace, despite the less-than-ideal circumstances, than he had been for days.

“Jack?” He called, making his way across the floor. Waking him on a good day was never without risks, and it was far from what anyone would consider a good day, but Mac was growing more and more concerned the longer Jack went without waking up on his own. Mac hadn’t exactly been a quiet hostage, keeping up appearances by finally being able to take out his frustrations of the last several stress-filled, partnerless days by kicking and screaming, cursing a blue streak that would have left Jack proud, had he been awake to hear it, and landing the occasional punch for good measure. “Hey, man, you not even going to wake up and say hello? After everything I went through to get in here?”

The closer Mac got, the more his concerns rose. He could hear the wheezing gasps that were serving as each hard-fought breath. His shirt was stiff, stained a brackish brown and it didn’t take a genius, not that Mac ever liked thinking of himself as one anyway, to recognize the signs of waterboarding. “Oh, Jack,” He sighed. “What did you go and get yourself into this time?” Each step closer revealed another problem. The way Jack was laying, his left arm curled protectively around his side, spoke of broken ribs though the bloodied knuckles were a sure sign that he didn’t go down without a fight. There were what seemed like millions of other bruises and abrasions, so many that they all, Mac knew from experience, blended into one endless hurt.

“Hey,” He crouched down beside the older man, breaking the cardinal rule of waking a sleeping vet by dropping a hand, frigidly cool in comparison to the skin it landed on, against Jack’s forehead. “Jack?”

Instead of jolting awake with a jerk like he usually would, often catching the offending hand in his own before he was even truly awake, Jack barely stirred, leaning slightly towards the comfort of Mac’s hand.

“That’s it,” Mac encouraged. He hated to wake him up, especially since he knew he couldn’t have gotten much rest between torture sessions, but he had gone long enough without his partner that he needed to see him awake. “C’mon, big guy. I missed you. And now you’re not even going to wake up and talk to me?”

Never one to put his own needs above Mac’s, that was enough to prompt him awake. “Mac?” He mumbled, sleepily pushing into the coolness his hand offered.

“I’m here,” Mac assured, a relieved smile twisting his lips upwards. “I’m right here.”

“Your turn to come and rescue me, huh?” Jack asked, peering up through squinted eyes.

“Well,” Mac worried his lip between his teeth. The fear of having to answer that question had been the part of his plan he had been dreading the most. “Not… exactly.”

Jack frowned, worried lines deepening. “What do you mean by th-” The question trailed off into a hacking cough that left Mac wincing in commiseration as Jack’s lungs rattled with each heave, which in turn left him curling even further around his ribs.

All Mac could offer was a hand, steady between his shoulder blades, to ground through until the worst of the pain stopped. “You okay?” He asked, once the coughing had abated and Jack was left panting, trying to catch his breath. It was a pointless question and he knew it, but he didn’t have anything to say that sounded any better. Jack was always the wordy one, not him.

“Been better,” Jack replied, rolling over onto his back with a groan. That admittance coming from Jack worried Mac more than silence or a false assurance would have. If Jack was willing to admit that he was hurting, he was already far past the point most people would have been able to handle. “That don’t mean you get out of answering my question though. Where’s your backup?”

“I, uh,” Mac reached the hand that hadn’t found it’s way to Jack’s chest, passing in a soothing pattern up and down in time with each breath, up to rub nervously at the back of his neck. “I don’t exactly have any.”

“Patty let you come in here with just surveillance on scene?” Jack scoffed. “She should know better than that. Gonna have to have some words with her when we get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Mac sighed, deciding the best course of action was to just rip the bandaid off. “I don’t even have that. We were kinda scrambling for a way to find you and it had been a few days…”

“You better not be sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’, Mac,” Jack warned, pushing himself up on his elbows with a wince.

“I bought us some time. Figured you had to be hurting by now, and at least if there were two of us they would only have half as much time to spend pounding on you,” Mac explained. “And now DXS is gonna be down two agents if they don’t want to expend the resources to come find us.”

“You let yourself get caught?” Jack exclaimed, shoving himself up to sitting despite the way his vision greyed out around the edges at the movement. “Damn it, Mac! You’re too smart to do something that stupid!”

“I had to find you,” Mac shrugged, not regretting his decision. “And I did.”

“But now we’re both stuck here,” Jack sagged against the wall behind him, energy already depleted, arm coming around to stabilize his ribs on instinct. “These guys don’t play around, Mac. I’ve been here for, what, ‘bout three days? And look at me.”

“Sixty-eight hours,” Mac smirked. “Give or take, but yeah, around three days.”

“And I’m damn near as broken as I’ve ever been. I can’t sit here and watch them do the same to you. That’d really do me in, kid.”

“Then I guess Patty better get to work on finding us,” Mac squared his shoulders and drew on any false bravado that had rubbed off from Jack over the years. It was his turn to be the strong one, confident in the face of danger.

Mac had hoped, as he was driving to Jack’s last known location with every intention of being taken just as his partner had been, a spy poking his nose where it didn’t belong, that their captors wouldn’t realize that he and Jack knew each other, let alone have knowledge of their forged-in-fire bond. His hopes were squashed when they were awakened the next morning. Well, Jack was awakened. Mac had never fallen asleep, choosing instead to sit at his partner’s side, alert, repaying back a small sliver of all the overwatch time that Jack had spent watching his back over the years. The cell opened to reveal a group of six men, mountains of muscle that would have been a close fight for the two of them, even with Jack uninjured, let alone knocked completely off his feet and battling a nasty chest infection that had only gotten worse through the night.

They didn’t stand a chance and Mac knew it. But it wasn’t going to stop him from trying. He put up a good fight, getting in several well-placed kicks and hits before they finally got the best of him. It still took two of the men to hold him back as two more went for Jack, hauling him up off the floor by both arms and dragging him towards the door where the other two goons were standing guard. “Seriously?” Mac spat, channeling all his anger and fear over the situation into provoking them. “You’re not done with him? Look at him! Where’s the fun in that? Hurting a guy who’s already on his last leg. What, are you scared? Afraid I won’t break as fast as he did? That I won’t crack and you’ll be left reevaluating your career choices? Maybe you aren’t as good at being a big scary cronie as you think you are?”

“Quite the contrary, Mister MacGyver,” A new voice came from the hallway and Mac fought against the man who was holding him in place by a hand buried in his hear, struggling to look up to see who it was who, apparently, knew exactly who they had captured. “I think it’s you who is afraid. But not for you. Oh no, you aren’t selfish enough to waste all that pretty fear on yourself. You’re worried about your good buddy Jack here. And I think the quickest way to break you, Mac, is without ever laying a hand on you.”

Despite his struggles and screamed protests, Jack was dragged out of their cell and the man who knew too much, even though Mac was certain Jack wasn’t his source-it would take a hell of a lot more than three days of questioning to get Jack Dalton talking- stayed just out of view, tucked away in the shadows. The routine went on for three more days. Jack was taken, Mac did his best to keep it from happening, and Jack was returned in even worse shape. Then Mac would spend the night counting each ragged breath that passed his partner’s lips, hoping it wouldn’t be the last.

The next day though, found Mac waiting with a plan he hoped would be more successful than the one that had landed them there, when they returned with Jack that evening. He was tired of waiting on DXS to send help, he needed to take matters into his own hands. He could feel his own strength waning. Too many sleepless nights and worry combined with the less-than-enough rations of food and water they were given once a day. Not that he was eating even close to half of his portions, giving them to Jack when he was awake enough to take them.

Jack wasn’t even attempting to struggle when they finally arrived, hanging limply between two of the armed guards from earlier. Mac noticed, proudly, the busted lip he remembered causing from his own left hook. He waited, as much as it pained him, until Jack had been unceremoniously dropped to the ground, back in the same corner Mac had found him in, before acting. Their mistake had been in thinking Mac would be so focused on checking on his partner that he would ignore the unguarded exit. Not that he was planning on leaving, yet, but the guards, who had ironically let their own guards down, were. He charged at the one closest to him, tackling him low and sweeping his knees out from under him with ease. The tricky part was making it seem as if he was trying to pull the stun gun free from his belt, while the other guard was trying his best to pull him away. It cost him a split lip of his own, but it was a small price to pay for the TAC knife he had managed to slip up his sleeve while they were too busy worried about keeping his hands away from the more dangerous weapons.

They didn’t realize that when it came to protecting his partner, any weapon was good enough in Mac’s eyes. And besides, he was way more comfortable with a knife.

Jack was barely conscious for most of the night. Floating in and out, unaware and fevered, Mac had long since given up trying to determine if his shirt was still damp from the latest round of water torture or if it was sweat. He would wake, worried about Mac and in the blink of an eye, he would be back to dreaming, a constant rotation of nightmares. Mac wasn’t sure which was worse, the ones Jack’s imagination cooked up or the one he was living out. He sat by his side, one hand grasping Jack’s own and the other wrapped firmly around the hilt of the blade still tucked away in his sleeve. He didn't take any of the day's water for himself, carefully helping Jack drink it throughout the night. It was the only thing he could do to lower his fever and it didn't feel like nearly enough. 

Morning’s arrival was bittersweet. It meant, on one hand, that they had survived another day. That they were one day closer to rescue, to going home. Not quite actual home, there was a very long hospital stay awaiting Jack that Mac had every intention of being there for every step of, but anywhere was better than where they were. It had to be the most dire of situations, Mac found himself thinking wryly, when either one of them was looking forward to the hospital stay to follow. But along with the hope that came with the sunrise, came the sinking knowledge that if help didn’t come, that meant they would be expected to spend another day there, and Mac wasn’t sure, at this rate, how many days Jack had left.

The sounds of bootsteps echoing down the corridor made Mac flinch. He looked up at the barred window that felt as if it was miles above his head and begged the forces of the universe to work backward, just this once. To give them a little more time. A few more moments of peace and a few more moments for their rescue team to find them. But the sun inched higher in the sky as the Earth turned beneath him, just as he had known it would, regardless of who he begged, and the sound of boots crept closer.

He was ready. As ready as he ever would be, at least, as he tucked himself into Jack’s uninjured side. His fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife, hidden just out of sight between him and Jack, felt wrong despite his training. It wouldn’t have mattered what weapon he had managed to grab, it still would have felt wrong. He never liked turning to violence. Regardless of the situation, it would never be his first choice. Sometimes though, and more often than he would prefer, given his career choice, Mac found that it was unavoidable. And if there was ever a situation that called for him to go slightly feral, to attack a group of well-trained guards with nothing more than a single blade, it would be to protect his partner when he was unable to do so himself.

So he did.

Muscles tensed and ready to spring into action, he could barely contain the energy thrumming beneath his skin as the cell door swung open with a clang. His chances would be higher though, he knew, if he let them think he was asleep. If he waited until they were closer, coming to drag Jack towards what he couldn’t help but think of as a slow death before he attacked. Jack wasn’t going anywhere on his own, that much was obvious even to the people who didn’t care whether he lived or died. They didn’t attempt to wake him, mumbling under their breath as they lifted his weight between two of them. As soon as the one closest to him nudged Mac out of the way with the toe of his boot, he struck.

The knife sliced through the air until it hit resistance, barely pausing before continuing through the pants leg and if the surprised yelp was any indication, calf muscle, of the captor. Knowing he had to act quickly, Mac jumped up, knocking the already injured man down with a hit to the jaw before sweeping his feet out from under him with a well-placed kick and shifting focus to the second target. He had a moment to think that the man’s voice, placating hands raised as he called out Mac’s name, sounded familiar. He couldn’t stop though, the fact that these men knew who he was only fueled his fire as he lunged. He dodged the blow with ease, a move that left Mac puzzled for a split second, side-stepping away from the blade and calling out for Mac again. It took longer than he was proud to admit to get the second guard apprehended, but as he was working on it he realized that there wasn’t as many this time.

There was only one man beside the door, and, Mac noticed, as he swung his stolen knife towards him as he charged, that none of them were in street clothes this time, but solid black. It almost looked like tactical gear, but he was too distracted by the third man heading towards Jack to check for sure. “Stay away from him,” He warned, running on anger and exhaustion and fear, adrenaline fueling his movements and he didn’t even take the time to process the man’s words as he spoke.

Though when Jack’s voice came through, gravelly and broken but his just the same, calling Mac’s name, it was enough to stop Mac in his tracks.

“Jack?” He spared a glance behind him, to where Jack was struggling to push himself up to sitting. “Stay there. I’m not letting them take you this time.”

“Mac, bud,” Jack ordered, attempting to stifle a cough, though Mac wasn’t sure if it was caused by speaking or from the dust the scuffle had stirred up. “Look at ‘em. We’re safe.”

Mac trusted Jack implicitly, even in the worst situations. And it was the first time Jack was awake and seemingly coherent in hours and he didn’t seem to be worried, so Mac took a moment to actually look at the men he had been fighting off. The knife dropped out of his hand, a dull thud against the dusty, blood-speckled ground, as he realized that he recognized all of them. They were a DXS tac team.

“I…” Mac sputtered, eyes shifting between Jack, the knife, and the fellow agents who were picking themselves up off the floor. He didn’t understand how he hadn’t known them, how he had labeled them a threat when in reality they were coworkers who he spoke to in the halls every day. Men who had put their own lives at risk to come save his, and he had repaid them by attacking.

“Bring it down, Mac,” Jack called weakly, from around another cough. “We’re alright.”

“Don’t worry about it, Agent MacGyver,” The third, and least injured of the men Mac had attacked, assured him. “It happens. What do you say I call the rest of the guys in and we get you two out of here, huh? Sound like a plan?”

“A great one,” Mac agreed, backing up until his shoulderblades bumped against the cold wall and he sunk down until he was sitting next to Jack.

“You okay?” Jack questioned, turning worried eyes, shining bright with a fever, Mac’s way.

“Pretty sure I’m supposed to be asking you that,” Mac forced a dry laugh, drawing his knees up towards his chest and burying his hands in his hair. “But, I… I lost it just then, Jack. Completely lost it. I was supposed to be protecting you, keeping you safe, and instead I went and… I could have hurt you.”

“Nah,” Jack waved his worry off. “You thought you were doin’ the right thing. Nothin’ wrong with that. And you didn't hurt anybody.”

"Pretty sure they," Mac nodded towards the tac team who was slowly beginning the process of helping one another up, seeing if any of the hits Mac had managed to land were deep enough to require medical assistance before they shipped out or if the waiting med team could turn their focus solely to Jack. "Would disagree with you." 

"Those boys have gotten worse in a single training day with me," Jack smirked. "They'll be a'ight." 

“Stop talking,” Mac admonished, the sound of Jack’s hoarse voice reminding him that there were more problems at hand than his own mistakes. "It sounds like it hurts." 

"Actually, everything kinda hurts at the moment," Jack's attempt at humor fell flat. "But it's okay. You got us outta here." 

"Not all on me," Mac ducked his head, unused to accepting praise even after spending the past couple years working side by side with Jack. "They did the real work. And you. You stuck around. Held on, even when most people would have given up. But you kept fighting." 

"Had to make it out of here. Who else is gonna watch your back?"

"Nobody," Mac promised, knowing it was more of a rhetorical question than anything but feeling a need to make a point of answering. "Nobody but you." 

"Damn right," Jack nodded. "Now what do you say you help me get out of here? I think we would both really appreciate bein' home right now." 

Mac smiled, holding out a closed fist for Jack's own to bump. "Home," he agreed. Nothing had ever sounded better.


	5. Where Do You Think You're Going?

Jack nearly managed to make his escape. If the thick bandages covering the path where a bullet had carved a channel through his calf hadn't interfered with him being able to pull on a pair of jeans, he would have been in the clear. Instead, he was caught, after dejectedly giving up hope on his skinny jeans and opting for a pair of sweat pants instead, trying to figure out how to balance on his injured leg and tying his shoes when his partner's shadow blocked the light coming in through the hallway. “Seriously? Where do you think you’re going?”

Okay, he was made, but he could still try and salvage things. Shifting gears and altering the plan he calmly replied, “Home.”

"Um, I don't think so," Mac shook his head, clearly not buying it. 

"Shows what you know," Jack shrugged and decided to give up on putting on his shoes while standing, resorting to sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, which he had taken the time to neatly remake. It had wasted a few precious moments of alone time but it erased any visible evidence that he had ever been admitted and proved that he was well enough to take care of himself, so it had been worth it. "Do I look like I have to stay here?" 

“Did they say you were allowed to bust out?” Mac asked. "If I go ask one of the nurses on shift are they going to say this is an approved discharge or did you just take it upon yourself to decide that you're well enough to go home?"

"You see this bag, here?" Jack kicked the go-bag sitting on the floor with his good leg. "I haven't been outta this room, Mac. You can ask anyone you see and they'll tell you the same thing. If I wasn't allowed to leave why would someone have gone and brought me clothes and shoes and everything I need to walk out of here?" It wasn't a complete truth, but the part about him never having to leave the room hadn't been a lie. But it hadn't been one of the orderlies who had retrieved his things from his locker as he implied, but rather one of the new Phoenix recruits. Jack still had the kid's contact information on his phone from the last time he had lead TAC drills and he had been more than willing to run a quick favor for Jack, hoping it would earn him some bonus points or at the very least get him remembered by the well-known agent. 

"Hop, not walk," Mac corrected, eyes narrowing in on the bag in question. "You're on crutches for the next week, at least. When your doctor was making rounds earlier he said they were keeping you overnight. What changed?" 

"Guess I'm already healing faster than they had hoped.

"And they already sent someone to take out your IV and everything?"

"Out and wrapped up, ready to go," Jack grinned, holding up the bandage on the back of his hand as evidence. It was another misdirect, and one day, once he was safely out of the clutches of Medical and back home, he would feel guilty about the almost-lies. Jack himself had actually been the one to remove everything, which had been stashed away in the tank of the toilet of the tiny bathroom adjoining his room. The bandage had been a lucky find at the bottom of his bag. 

"Jack," Mac sighed. He could tell something wasn't right. "I watched you get shot this morning," He held up a protesting hand when Jack tried to interrupt. "And don't try to tell me that it doesn't count since it was just a through 'n through to your leg. It's still a bullet wound. They seriously said you could go home?" 

Jack nodded, too guilty to say much more than a single “Yup.” 

He should have done more to convince him because Mac's eyes sparked with realization. "Today? They said you could go home today?"

Damn it, he was caught. There was no way he could talk his way out of that one without offering up a direct lie and that was never something he liked doing to his kid. “Umm…” he hesitated, stalling for time while trying to come up with an excuse. 

"I can't believe you almost had me," Mac rolled his eyes. "Bed. Now." 

"I really am fine, though, hoss," Jack pleaded. "All they're gonna do is tell me to rest and I can do that at home. Look, I'm ready to go. We can-"

"What you can do, is get your ass back in that bed before I put it there myself," Mac warned. "You really thought you were going to get away with this?" 

"Almost did. And technically, my ass is still on the bed." 

He didn't have to use it very often, but Mac had a very intimidating glare when he wanted to. 

"Okay, okay," Jack gave the open door one last, longing look before climbing back to lay down on the bed. "Guess I'm sticking around for a few more hours." 

"If I didn't think you'd try and pull another jailbreak I'd make them keep you a few extra days out of spite," Mac complained, grabbing the handles of Jack's bag and throwing it into the far corner of the room before tasking himself to undoing all the hard work Jack had just put in of tying his shoes. 

"You're real mad aren't you?" 

"Yeah, you big hypocrite, I really am," Jack's shoes quickly followed his bag, landing in the corner, one after the other, each with a defeated thunk. 

"If I actually needed to stay I wouldn't have tried this," Jack offered. As far as apologies went, that was far from his best. "And I never came right out and lied to you. I gotta get a little credit for that, right? Just a little?" 

"Oh no, you're not going to charm your way out of me being upset about this," Mac dragged the empty chair out of its original spot beside Jack's bed and placed it directly between his partner and the door, settling into it with a huff, arms crossed against his chest. "That guilt you're feeling? That's cause you know how stupid this was and you tried to do it anyway." 

"I'm sorry, kid," It really hadn't been his best plan, though that hadn't been enough to stop him from trying to see it through. "I really am. I just wanted out of here." 

"I know," Mac's anger softened, just a little. He was no stranger to the desperate need to break out of the confines of a hospital, especially when he didn't feel like he was hurt enough to warrant a stay there. "But you don't get to just sneak out. What was your plan if you actually managed to make it to the elevator, huh?" 

"Head to the garage." 

"And drive yourself home?" 

"No!" Jack feigned indignant for a moment, letting Mac think he wasn't that reckless. "I was gonna head on over to your place." He admitted with a sheepish grin. "Too many stairs to climb at mine with this bum leg."

"And you seriously couldn't have waited," Mac checked his watch. "Another eleven hours to pile up on my couch? Trust me, it isn't that comfy." 

"A lot better than this sorry excuse for a bed," Jack complained. 

"And it's all yours," Mac promised. "Once you're actually released and it's safe for you to leave." 

"Don't sound like I've got much say in the matter," Jack sighed. "So I guess that's my best option."

"I mean, feel free to try and sneak out again," Mac offered, nodding towards the empty hallway behind him. "Good luck." 

"No point. I know you'll catch me." His plan, which had been kind of dumb, not that he was going to admit that to Mac, was officially a flop and he was resigned to spending the night stuck in Phoenix Med. 

"Damn right," Mac nodded. "That's what partners do."


	6. Please...

"Please..." The word is garbled as it falls from Jack's split lips, crawling out from between bloody teeth.

The only answer is another hit, landing solidly against his jaw and snapping his head back against the hard back of the chair his arms were tied behind. Adding another bruise to the collection he had amassed over the past few hours, though he was fairly certain that it wouldn't be noticeable even after all the blood was wiped away. There were only so many bruises that could form before they began running together, a mottled road map of hurt spanning across his face and down his torso. His captors were well-trained, he had to give them that. They knew what hits would leave the most pain behind with as little effort exuded on their part and to keep focused on as small a target area as possible instead of spreading out the hurt. They were professionals, good at their job. And their current job was to break one Jack Dalton.

"Please," He panted again, peering up at them through the one eye that wasn't swollen shut, wheezing from what he was hoping was only broken ribs and nothing more serious. He wasn't sure which was more painful, drawing in a breath or exhaling. Croaking out a full sentence was long out of the realm of possibilities, as was keeping up the constant drone of singing that he had starting the hostage situation out with. He was lucky to manage a single word, nearly begging between blows that kept coming despite his pleas. At least, that was what he wanted them to believe.

Because they were very good at their job.

What they didn't realize, though, was that Jack Dalton was even better.

_Don't let them know how strong you are._ It was an interrogation tactic as old as the day is long, one that his superiors, back when he had such things, tried their best to drill into his mind, usually giving up and declaring him too stubborn for his own good. And it had its merits. It made sense, at least on paper, why it would be better to play up your fear and misery, to let the bad guy of the week think they had broken you long before they even came close. It would trick them into going easier, usually without them even realizing they were doing so, and giving you a bit of a break long enough to hold out for rescue to come. Jack had never been a fan of that plan, too confident and prideful and sure, maybe a little stubborn. Playing weak worked for some people, just not him.

But there was always a first time for everything.

Separating on a mission always, without fail, backfired spectacularly, and the current mission was no different. He headed north while Mac went south, aiming to divide and conquer when it really only resulted in him being captured and left unsure of where Mac was or if he was safe. Immensely grateful that Mac wasn't in the current predicament with him, Jack had to stall. He knew Mac could take care of himself, but it went against everything he believed in, everything he had trained for, to leave him to handle a team of well-trained mercs on his own. But there were three of them and only one of Jack, and while that would have been an easy fight on a normal day, he didn't know if Mac had been captured as well and he couldn't risk the rest of their team punishing Mac for his fighting back. So he gritted his teeth and swallowed down the sharp words he wanted to spew along with the mouthfuls of blood and let them think that hey had broken him, anger and determination boiling just beneath the surface with every hit that kept him begging.

"Please," He let his voice choke up a little, a performance that would have won him all the awards if it had been recorded in whatever movie Bozer had been working on in his spare time. "Stop, please."

It was convincing enough that his captors shared a proud smile, silently deciding that they had succeeded. He was broken enough that he wasn't going anywhere. They had done their job. Two of them left, giving Jack a sliver of a view of the bare stone walls of the empty hallway. He had to act, couldn't risk them going to find Mac, in an identical room just out of sight. "Please," He gasped again, desperation coursing through his voice. "You don't have to do this. You can let me go."

"Afraid not," The man sneered, landing a solid punch to Jack's cheek and he felt the arch of bone there crack under the force of the blow.

"No?" Jack asked, letting his voice slip back to normal, if a little more threatening then that he used when talking to civilians. "Not feelin' it? Guess we get to do this the fun way then," A grin split across his face, surprising the other man enough that he took a stumbled half-step back. "What's wrong? You were havin' the time of your life earlier. Not so much fun throwing blows when the punching bag starts talkin' back?"

Remembering his job, his captor lunged forward, fist raised, aiming for a knock out hit that would send Jack back into silent compliance. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't for Jack to lunge forward himself, having spent the past hour distracting from the fact that he was slowly breaking free from the ropes restraining his hands behind his back. A single punch had the man sprawled out unconscious on the floor. A normal person would have used that as the perfect moment to walk away, but Jack Dalton was nothing if not a talker and he had spent far too long being quiet for his own liking, only allowing the occasional- albeit fake- plea to pass his lips. "What, you thought all that begging was real?" He laughed, finally able to spit out a mouthful of blood that conveniently landed in the center of the unconscious man's shirt. "I wasn't askin' you to stop, just wanted a turn of my own."

And with that he turned on his heel, pulling the collar of his own blood-stained shirt up over his face, trying to wipe away the worst of the blood obstructing his vision as he left the room in search of his partner.


	7. I've Got You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, while you can technically read this one on its own, I would suggest checking out Mac's chapter for today first to get a little backstory.

Jack had never been more thankful for the technological marvel that was automatic doors than he was as he approached the Emergency Room, arms full of a bleeding, unconscious partner, and unable to open the door himself. The quiet hiss as the entrance parted for him was music to his ears and the sharp scent of chemical cleaners had never been more welcome.

Most days, those were reminders that he had failed. Hadn’t done his job properly and Mac had ended up hurt. Which was, technically, still the case, but he was out of his element and at the end of his rope, desperate enough for help, for someone other than him-despite the field medicine training courses he had aced over the years-to take over and piece his kid back together again. Desperate enough, in fact, that he had been willing to risk their covers, hastily calling Matty and informing her, not bothering to waste time in asking for permission, that he was heading towards the closest hospital in the small town they had been staking out a potential terrorist cell in. The worry that was seizing in his chest, that had been bubbling there since he had watched one of the men they were tracking drive his knife hilt-deep into Mac’s abdomen and had only increased, threatening to spill out as panicked sobs when Mac fell unconscious despite his begging for him to stay awake, a trembling “Sorry, big guy,” falling from his lips as blue eyes fluttered closed.

Matty hadn’t even questioned his decision, assuring him that she would do her part to have the closest hospital briefed and ready for their arrival. All he had to do was get there. A task that would have been much easier if they hadn't been attacked in the middle of nowhere and Mac hadn't had to cut the fuel line of their rental car to rig up an explosion to blow out the generator of the compound they were watching. Given the options of attempting to break into the compound without getting himself killed and steal a car or carry Mac to safety, he went with the latter, not wanting to leave Mac for any length of time. He hadn't expected, when he scooped the younger man up into his arms and began the hike towards the two-lane road they had come in on, for it to be miles before he was able to find a car he could hotwire to get them the rest of the way to the hospital. He had gone as fast as he could, knowing that with each step he was spending precious time, time Mac might not have to spare, but he had eventually made it. He just hoped it was enough.

"Help him," He had intended for the words to sound commanding, not giving the nurse walking towards him an option to protest, but it came out as more of a plea instead. Either way, it was effective.

He watched, helpless, as a swarm of scrub-clad professionals pulled Mac out of his arms and whisked him away on a gurney, behind a set of doors he wasn't allowed to follow through. He wasn't at Phoenix Med, with the familiar teams of staff members willing to disregard the rules and regulations instated to give the injured agent in their care some form of privacy. He was still staring at the doors long after that had swung closed when he finally registered a voice speaking to him through the drone of worry humming in his ears.

"What?" He blinked down at the nurse who was clearly waiting on him to answer the questions she must have been asking for a while.

She smiled, taking a risk and placing a cool hand on his arm. "He's in good hands," She assured, watching as Jack's eyes shifted away from her and back to the set of doors where he had got his last glimpse of his partner. "You're Jack, right?" She continued, and the fact that Matty had used their actual names, not expecting them to keep up a thinly-planned cover, surprised him enough to refocus some of his attention. 

"Yeah," He confirmed, nodding slowly. "Yeah, that's me. Mac's the kid they took back with the knife in his gut."

"He's in good hands," She repeated again.

"I'm sure that's the case, and y'all are perfectly good at your jobs and all that," Jack sighed. "But I'm not gonna believe it until I see that he's okay with my own two eyes."

"I get that. I have children of my own." She continued and Jack didn't bother correcting her. "But I spoke with your supervisor, a Director Webber?" She paused, waiting on his confirming nod before continuing. "And I know I can't know much regarding what happened here, but I do need to make sure that you're okay as well, alright? So, is any of this blood yours? Or was it all from the impressive rescue you made carrying Mac in here?"

"It's all his," Jack looked downward, taking a moment to think about himself for the first time since Mac had been hurt. "Every drop. Tried to keep as much of it from leakin' outta him as I could, left the blade in, much as I hated to..."

"You did the right thing," She cut him off, sensing an oncoming spiral of guilt. "Handled the situation perfectly. I wish even a fourth of the people that come through those doors had someone as smart as you helping them out along the way."

"Naw, the kids the smart one. I'm just the muscle."

"Somehow I doubt that's true," Another soft smile. "But since none of this blood belongs to you, am I safe in assuming Mac's the only one who got hurt? You're fine, just a little shaken up?"

"Um," Jack hedged, reaching up a hand to rub at the back of his neck, a nervous tick he had never been able to break no matter how hard he tried over the years, before realizing that his palms were still tacky will spilled blood and letting it drop back down with a sigh. "Not, not exactly. I ain't bleedin." He assured, catching sight of her worried eyebrow raise. "Nothin' serious, really, I don't wanna take help away from someone who actually needs it so I wasn't even gonna mention it. But since you asked..."

"Tell you what, I won't try to tell you how to do your job, since it's clear that whatever it is you do for a living, Jack, you're very good at it, and you don't tell me how to do mine, okay?" She waited until he nodded before continuing. "And since we've agreed to let the medical professional be the judge of what does or does not require medical attention, why don't you start talking?"

Without a response, Jack turned and headed for a quiet corner of the waiting room.

"I thought we were talking?" She followed him, shoes squeaking against the floors. "Not running away?"

"Can't tell you cause I don't know," Jack dropped into a chair with a huff, kicking out his left leg and leaning down, wiping drying blood off on his thighs as best he could before untying the laces of his boot. "Didn't stop to check it out. Mac comes first. Always."

"Okay, that's fair," She stopped, crossing her arms to keep herself from reaching out and assisting him. "But we can go get you checked out somewhere a little more private than the waiting room."

"Nah, no point in takin' help away from someone who actually needs it," Jack frowned as he pulled his boot off. "Huh. Well, maybe I do need some help."

"What's wrong?" She dropped to the chair beside him, professionalism, privacy and personal space be damned, and reached down to carefully pull the hem of his pants leg up, revealing a mottled array of bruises wrapping around a severely swollen ankle, lines etched deep into the skin from his sock.

"Guess I did more than just roll it when I slipped back in the woods," Jack announced, lifting his foot from the floor and attempting to roll the injured joint. "Yup, that might actually be a little bit of a problem after all."

"That looks like a broken ankle. Stop moving it." She scolded, scanning the room, searching for a wheelchair, mind whirling, already planning how to get him into an examination room over to imaging without too much of a fight.

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "Looks like it."

"How were you standing," She asked, thinking back to their earlier conversation. "No, better yet, how did you carry that boy of yours in from the parking lot?"

Jack barked a laugh. "The few steps from the parking lot was nothin'. If any of this was gonna be impressive it would be the hike out of the woods 'till I found us a car."

"You... you carried him. Out of the woods on a broken ankle?"

"Well he wasn't gonna make it out of there on his own," Jack shrugged. "No big thing."

"How far?"

"Couple klicks, probably about four of 'em," Jack shrugged as if the number was nothing. "Not that far."

"You carried an unconscious man over two miles on a broken ankle and didn't even notice it?"

"I mean, it was hurtin'. Didn't think it was this bad. Wasn't nowhere near as bad as what he was dealin' with, so it didn't matter even if I did realize it. I couldn't keep him from getting hurt, least I could do was get him somewhere where they could help him. Practically nothing."

"This isn't nothing," She shook her head, emotions torn between being amazed and frustrated, waving over a nurse she saw pushing an empty wheelchair in through the door after helping a patient out to their car. "Come on, let's go get you patched up."

"Mac-"

"Mac is in good hands. You have gone above and beyond what you had to do to get him here. You did your job. I'm sure the last thing he would want right now would be you putting off getting the help you need and if you listen, we'll be done with you before he's even awake."

Jack eyed the approaching chair warily. "You tell me the second you have any news about him. I don't care what it is, I don't care what I'm in the middle of, if something changes with him, I know as soon as y'all do."

"Deal," She held out a hand to shake on the agreement. "Now let's go get you fixed up. You've got one hell of an impressive tale to tell your boy when he wakes up."

Jack didn't bother trying to explain that they had pulled off miracles far more impressive than the one she had witnessed, she would be better off not knowing the close-calls her world was saved from by the two of them in a single week. It didn't matter. As long as Mac pulled through they could keep going. Making the world a safer place, together.


	8. Where Did Everybody Go?

"Hey," Jack's voice was rough but it got the job done, drawing the attention of his partner, who was lost in his own world staring out the window despite the fact that the sky he was staring at was pitch black, alerting him that he was no longer the only conscious one in the room.

"Hey" Mac smiled, relieved to see Jack awake. "Welcome back."

"Thanks. Didn't really know I was gone though. You by yourself?" He asked, rolling his shoulders against the lumpy hospital bed. The rest of the team had been there when he was taken in for surgery, trailing behind the, luckily, only one injured on their latest op gone bad but it was only he and Mac when he woke up. He was trying to work himself up to the monumental task of moving, but deciding that the heavy limbs working against him were a sign that he should stay slumped in the floaty, comfortable world of post-op drugs.

"No," Mac joked, deflecting. "You're here."

"Ha ha," Jack sent him a knowing look, both a reminder and a warning that while he might be completely knocked off his ass he was still able to see right through any of Mac's fronts. "Very funny, kid. Try again. Where'd everybody go? I might be a little out of it but they were all here when we got back."

"I sent them home," Mac admitted, peering up through long lashes, worried he had made a bad call in insisting the rest of their little found family go home, leaving only himself there when Jack woke up. "It's late. Or, well, technically early, I guess. And I wasn't sure if you'd want a crowd when you came back around."

Jack didn't like admitting weaknesses. Didn't like anyone, no matter how close they were or how much he loved and trusted them, witnessing those faults in his armor. It was only out of necessity and years of bull-headed arguments that he allowed Mac to shoulder some of that burden.

Mac didn't see it as a burden though. The fact that, though it had been hard-won, he had worked his way up to the position to be the one waiting on Jack to wake up, to get him at his most vulnerable and be okay with it, wasn’t something that was lost on Mac.

Jack saw through Mac's words. "You didn't trust that I wouldn't come out swinging," Jack grinned, a lazy twist of his lips.

Busted.

"It was a rough one," Mac reminded him with a sheepish smile of his own, ducking his head and abandoning the uncomfortable hospital chair, moving instead to sit on the side of Jack's bed. "That op we were coming in off of. You were still in fight-mode when we got here. Wasn't sure if that was gonna last through the surgery or not."

"Everyone okay?"

"Except for you."

"Then I ain't got no reason to fight." He knew that was an answer Mac wouldn't like but it was the truth and Jack wasn't exactly known for having a very active vocal filter when he wasn't drugged to the gills. "But if y'all thought I was gonna give everybody a hard time coming out of this why aren't I strapped down?" 

A sheepish grin and Mac leaned forward, pulling open the drawer of the wooden bedside table and lifting out a pair of padded restraints. "You mean these?" 

"Yeah, I mean those," Jack couldn't help but smile. "Pretty sure you're not supposed to go around pickin' locks, kid. Especially ones that are there to keep me from hurting you." 

"You'd never hurt me," There was so much trust in Mac's eyes that Jack almost believed it himself. Almost.

"Not on purpose, buddy," He finally answered. He was too tired to argue about it and the bullet wound, which he was fairly certain hadn't hit anything too important as it had carved a path through his abdomen, barely missing the bottom of his rib cage, was starting to make itself known. "Still wish you'd worry about yourself a little more though." 

"That's what I have you for," Mac shrugged. "You do enough worrying for the both of us. Doesn't mean I don't notice that you're hurting, though."

"I'm alright," Jack answered automatically, straightening himself and preparing to sit up to prove his point but the pain intensified and he couldn't help but suck in a breath of surprise at the sharp ache. 

"Wanna try convincing me of that again?" Mac sighed, shaking his head at his partner's stubbornness. "You're not supposed to be moving." 

"Yeah, not the best idea I've ever had," Jack agreed. There was no point in denying it, Mac had already called him out on the pain and since it was only the two of them, he didn't feel as though he had to keep up the tough-guy act. "Really am okay, though. Little bullet wound. Hardly nothin'." 

"Want me to call someone? Have them bring you something for the pain?" Mac offered.

"Nope," Jack shook his head, protesting before Mac was even through talking. "I'm good."

"Are you going to be this stubborn the whole time you're healing from this one?"

Jack smiled. "Don't see why this one should be any different from any other. I've got a reputation to uphold, kid." 

Mac shook his head and pulled his phone from his pocket. 

"Who you callin'?" 

"Sending Boze and Riley a text, let them know you're awake. They were worried." 

"Oh." 

"And telling them that visiting hours don't start until eight so there's no point in coming to check on you themselves until morning," Mac grinned. "So that will buy you a couple more hours of not having to pretend that you're okay." 

Jack would have laughed if it wouldn't have hurt. "Thanks, kid." He wasn't going to admit how relieved he was at knowing he didn't have to put on the tough guy mask just yet. "But it's the middle of the night. Not like they were gonna hop in their cars and come all the way back over here just to see for themselves." 

"I think you're underestimating how much we all care about you, big guy," Mac dropped a hand on his shoulder. "They'd be here still if I hadn't told them to leave. Repeatedly. Trust me, it took a lot of convincing." 

"Not that I ain't lookin' forward to seein' 'em," Jack said as he finally gave in to the pull of sleep still fighting for his attention and settled deeper into the bed, trying to find a comfortable position that didn't pull on his latest battle wound. "But I'm glad you did."

"I thought you might be," Mac smiled. "Go on back to sleep. You'll have a whole welcome committee here waiting on you when you wake up." 

"Kay," Jack agreed, letting his eyes drop closed. "Thanks. For all that. And for stickin' around. Glad you're here." 

"Right where I'm supposed to be."


	9. For The Greater Good

It wasn't ever a question for Jack. He was standing at Mac's side while the younger man was working on the breaker box of the highrise, trying to cut the power to every room except for the one they needed to sneak into to copy files from a corrupt senator's desktop. While Mac was focusing on the seemingly endless rows of switches, Jack was focusing on the doorway which is why he saw the flash of light glinting off the gun pointed at Mac before he saw the man pointing it. He didn't have to think about it, he was moving to stand between Mac and the threat as he fired a round of his own, the other man falling to the ground, dead, a split second after he felt the bullet slam into him. 

Mac spun around, eyes wide, startled at the commotion, in time to reach out and grab Jack beneath his arms as he began to drop to the floor. 

"What the hell, Jack?" He exclaimed, easing Jack's descent until he was laying down, scrambling to pull Jack's shirt up to see the wound. 

"He was comin' for you," Jack explained, breathless, squinting his eyes tightly closed against the wave of pain. "I wasn't gonna let him." 

"You're not supposed to let him shoot you instead," Mac argued, ignoring Jack's hiss as he wiped away as much blood as he could to get a clearer view. "Okay," He settled back on his heels for a moment, reminding himself to breathe. "It isn't as bad as it could have been. Too low to have hit a lung and it's far enough to the side that it probably missed vital organs." 

"Don't exactly keep it from hurtin'," Jack huffed a laugh that faded into a groan. 

"Stay still," Mac instructed. "The bullet's still in there. We need a medevac. You're not walking out on this one."

"I can," Jack argued. It didn't matter how much he was hurting, keeping Mac from worrying came as natural to him as keeping Mac safe did. "Might need you to help me a little, but I can walk. He didn't shoot me in the leg." 

"I wasn't giving you the option," Mac rolled his eyes, wiping the blood on his hands onto his jeans before digging his phone out of the pocket of his jacket and trying to dial Matty's number. "Damn it!" He growled, setting the phone down on the floor to keep himself from throwing it across the room in frustration. "No service." 

"End of the hallway," Jack said, nodding towards the door. "By the window. I checked in with Riley while I was waiting on you to pick the lock to get us in here." 

"I'm not leaving you." 

"It's that or I go with you," Jack offered. "Your call." 

He clearly wasn't happy about it, but Mac ripped the sleeve off of Jack's blood-stained shirt and pressed it to Jack's stomach. "Sorry, I'm sorry," He apologized as Jack bucked beneath him, trying to squirm away from the pain. He waited, holding pressure there and ignoring the way Jack was blinking back tears, until his partner had caught his breath. 

"I'm okay," He assured, though it wasn't very convincing. "Go on. Get some help." 

"You keep pressure on this," Mac instructed, lifting one of his hands away and picking up Jack's, putting it into place. "Tight." 

"I-I know," Jack panted, grunting as he did what Mac said. 

"And stay awake. You don't get to go to sleep. Eyes open, you hear me." 

"Promise," Jack dipped his head once in a weak nod. 

"You're sure?" Blue eyes flicked between Jack and the doorway. "I don't want to come back here in a minute and find you unconscious and bleeding out." 

" 'm awake," He assured, voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. "Go. 'Fore my strength gives out and I need you to take back over." 

As much as Mac hated it, he went. Snagging his phone off the floor, ignoring the slowly-growing puddle of blood inching closer to him with every moment that passed, he took off out the door at a run, barely giving the body in the hallway a second glance. He slammed into the wall at the end of the corridor, letting it slow his momentum instead of wasting time slowing down, and just as Jack had said, he had enough service there to place a call in to Matty. He didn't waste long, hurriedly getting out details that she needed and nothing more before turning the volume on his ringer up as far as it would go and leaving the phone sitting on the windowsill, just in case she needed to call him back. 

Jack's eyes were closed when he rushed back into the room, which caused Mac's heart to drop for a moment. As soon as he realized Mac was back in the room though, he pried his eyes open and cracked a smile. "I'm still with ya." 

"Matty's got a team on their way," Mac relayed the news. "She's getting the local hospital cleared for our arrival right now. You just have to hang in there for about ten, maybe fifteen minutes, okay?" 

Jack nodded, movements jerky and broken but he was awake and aware and it would have to be good enough. "I can do that." 

"I got it," Mac carefully moved Jack's hands away from the fabric that was growing soaked much faster than Mac would have liked. "I'll take this over, you rest." 

"Not exactly the most comfortable spot," Jack huffed, muscles tensing as he tried to lock himself into place to keep from twisting away from Mac's hands. 

"I can't believe you let him shoot you." 

"He didn't exactly give me a choice," Jack let his eyes slip closed again. "I wasn't going to let him hit you." 

"You could have told me to move," Mac suggested. "Or pulled me down out of range. There were options other than taking a bullet yourself." 

"Too risky. I had to make sure you were safe. Everything else comes second to that." 

"You know I don't agree with that, right? You're important too."

"Not like you," Jack protested. "The world needs you. If I don't go out with you? I'm gonna go out saving you," Jack's voice faded out as his head lolled to the side, barely conscious. 

"Well, we don't have to worry about that happening for a long, long time," Mac said, determined. "Cause it's not happening today. Or anytime soon, if I have anything to say about it." 

Jack didn't answer. 

"Hey," Bloodstained fingers reached up to tap against Jack's cheek. "You're not going to sleep on me, are you? Cause you promised you'd stay awake. Since when does Jack Dalton go around breaking promises?" 

"Said," It was a struggle to get his eyes to open again, but Jack managed it. "That I'd stay 'wake till you got back. Didn't agree to after." 

"But you're going to anyway, right?" Mac asked, knowing that Jack would do his best not to deny him anything, no matter what it cost him. "You wouldn't go to sleep and leave me here by myself." 

"No," Jack agreed, intentionally shifting under Mac's hands and choking back a scream, needing the pain to wake him up. "No, I'm awake. I'm not leaving you alone." 

"Good," Mac tried to brush back the hair that was falling into his eyes with his shoulder so he wouldn't have to ease up on holding pressure on the wound that had nearly bled through the fabric in his hands. "Cause help's on the way. You're gonna be fine. And you've got a nice, long talk about your blatant disregard for your own self worth to look forward to once you're officially out of the woods."

"Not in the woods this time," Jack was somehow still able to crack a joke. "Building. Bottom floor."

"It's just an expression, you ass," Mac let out a shaky laugh despite the perilous situation and the decidedly grey hue Jack's skin had taken on. "And you know it."

"Made you smile though."

"Do you ever worry about yourself? Ever?" Mac risked taking his gaze away from Jack just long enough to get a hurried look at the face of his watch. 

"Sirens." 

Mac frowned, preparing to jump into another lecture about Jack trying to change the subject, and poorly at that, before realizing that Jack was staring past him towards the door. A few tense heartbeats passed without Mac hearing anything and when he was about to chalk whatever Jack thought he was hearing up to blood loss, he too began to hear the faintest trill of sirens. 

"You thought I'd done gone and lost my mind, didn't you?" Jack asked, lips twisting upwards in a grin as each blink lasted longer than the last.

"I could make a fairly valid argument that you did that when you jumped in front of a bullet," Mac argued. "You're staying awake, remember?" 

" 'm awake," Jack whispered, inching a hand closer to Mac, trembling fingers twisting into the denim bunched at his knee. "Whatever happens, hoss-" 

"Nope," Mac cut him off. "We're not having that conversation. No way. Not now, not ever. You're going to be fine. You're going to stay awake, and the paramedics are going to be here in just a few minutes, and they'll get you to the hospital and before you know it you'll be trying to charm the nurses into sneaking you lunch from whatever fast food joint is across the street instead of the broth and crackers and jello they're supposed to bring you." The wailing of the ambulance came to a halt directly outside and Mac could barely hear himself talking but he still felt as though he had to say it. If Jack wasn't going to believe it, he would have to believe it enough for both of them. 

It was only his years of experience as an agent that had left him with the skill of reading lips that allowed Mac to understand what he was saying. "You did good, kid." 

Hurried footsteps pounded down the hall, coming towards them, and Jack drained the remainder of the strength left in his reserves to move his hand from Mac's knee up to his arm. Smearing streaks of blood across Mac's forearm, he held on as tight as he could. If Mac hadn't been too busy trying to keep as much blood from bubbling up out of him as possible, Jack would have thrown pride out the window and grabbed his hand instead, but the hold was at least skin-to-skin and better than nothing. 

"You're gonna be okay," Mac repeated the words again, hoping they weren't a lie. "Just a little longer." 

Jack waited until the team of paramedics burst through the doorway, though if asked he wouldn't have been able to tell you what company they worked for or what they looked like, not even how many there were. "Waited till they got here," he said, offering Mac a smile that didn't feel convincing, even to himself. "Technically I kept my promise. Sorry, kiddo." There was no struggle to open them back up when his eyes fell closed again, he was out.

Mac waited until one of the paramedics pulled him away, unable to bring himself to be the one who broke the contact. But Jack had held on as long as he could, for him. Fought past a bullet that he had taken, for him. "Save him," He instructed, rising to his feet, instantly missing the lack of familiar hands there to steady him when he wobbled. "Whatever it takes." 

Jack might have believed that he was disposable, that Mac's life was worth more than his own, but Mac wasn't ready to live in a world where Jack wasn't there watching his back and he was going to make sure that didn't happen any time soon.


	10. They Look So Pretty When They Bleed

It wasn't that Jack forgot that Riley was waiting for them on the plane, not really. It was just that he knew she was safe and sound waiting back at the private- and empty save for the lone Phoenix jet- airstrip so he didn't have to worry about her. Not like Mac, who was in the field fighting his way through the swarm of bad guys who weren't supposed to be in the basement they snuck into. In the end, the op had been a success. Another win to bring home to Patty. Jack was thinking of that, not the splash of blood drying along the side of his face and neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his t-shirt, when they clamored up the steps of the plane. Bruised knuckles and sore muscles didn't count, so If the one lone gash on his head, delivered by the well-thrown chunk of discarded lumber one of the guys aimed his way, was the only injury either of them walked away from, Jack was more than happy to call their latest mission a success.

Riley, on the other hand, didn't see it as such a positive.

"Um, are you dying?" She looked up from the improvised office she had set up on the plane, monitors and tech gadgets that Mac and Jack had learned early on not to touch were spread across every surface within her reach. "That's a lot of blood."

"What?" Mac panicked for a brief moment, having forgotten about Jack's latest incident as soon as he made sure it wasn't serious. He spun around, eyes wide as he searched for an injury Jack might have managed to hide from him, before seeing what she was talking about and breaking into a relieved laugh. "Oh. That. He's fine."

"Seriously?" She scoffed, hoping some of her worry would be masked by the forced bravado. "That's "fine" to you?"

"It's a head wound," Mac shrugged. "They bleed a lot. Though, in hindsight?" He met Jack's eyes with a smirk. "Yeah, we probably should have at least cleaned him up a little before heading back."

"It really look that bad?" Jack asked, ducking to try and see his reflection in the nearest window. "Honestly, I forgot about it."

"You look like you walked straight out of a haunted house," Riley told him with an eye roll. "A really lame, really cheap, haunted house."

"Hey," Jack's eyes lit up at a sudden memory. "You remember that one I took you to? When you were a kid?"

"No. No, I don't."

"Oh, c'mon. Sure you do! Where the guy with the chainsaw was chasin' people down the hall? Herdin' 'em right into the room with the ghost thing that would drop from the ceiling?" He prompted. "Your mom was ready to kill me when I brought you home from that place. Made me swear I wouldn't take you back. She thought you were too young, was worried it would scare you but I knew you could handle it. You had a blast."

"She was worried about me and you were the one who would have to leave the hallway light on for the whole next week before you went to bed," Riley answered automatically, only realizing her mistake when Jack sent her a knowing grin, raising an eyebrow to let her know she had been caught.

He never got a chance to actually call her out on it though, because the move of his eyebrow sent the cut bleeding again, a new stream of blood trickling down the side of his face, bright against the dull backdrop of the blood that had already dried there.

"Okay," Mac grabbed Jack's elbow and tugged him towards the back of the plane. "Why don't you two put the reminiscing on hold for a little while. Thornton always gets mad when we end up with bloodstains on the upholstery."

"True," Jack agreed, following Mac's lead. "And I'm on her bad side enough as it is."

Mac dropped Jack off on the seat closest to the cramped, but efficient, restroom while he ducked in washed his hands and soaped up a couple of hand towels, returning and offering one to Jack before the older man had even had a chance to begin digging through the first aid kit. "You want to wash the worst of it off or you want me to?"

"I can do it," Jack took the towel and began wiping away the blood, revealing clean skin beneath and he smiled. "She remembered," He dropped his voice to a low whisper. "Did you hear? She didn't want to admit it, but she remembered."

"I heard," Mac grinned back, joining in on the hushed, secretive conversation. "But if you don't play it cool she's never going to be willing to admit it."

"I know, I know, it's just..." Jack shook his head. "I thought I'd blown it. I never expected to get this chance with her. Not after how I left things. She was my kid, you know? I mean, not really, but you get the idea."

Mac nodded, using the clean towel to begin washing the cut on Jack's temple.

"Not that you aren't," Jack quickly added, mistaking Mac's concentration for him being upset. "My kid. Cause you are. And nothin's gonna change that."

"I know, Jack," Mac smiled. It had been a hard-fought battle, but Mac had finally stopped questioning the validity of his partner's words when he said things like that. He knew he had a place in Jack's heart. Jack had gone out of his way to prove it over the years, determined to be the one willing to put in the work, no matter how hard Mac made it sometimes, to break the cycle and never leave him.

"Well, it ain't gonna hurt to remind you," Jack continued. "But she was my kid first. Too. Maybe too's the better word to use there, I don't know, you get the picture. And I thought I lost her. I kept track over the years, did what I could to keep an eye on her, keep her safe, but there's only so much protecting you can do for an actual kid, a minor, when they, and their parents, don't want you around."

"I always wondered why you never mentioned her," Mac admitted, using the distraction of cleaning and bandaging Jack's latest battle wound to mask the awkwardness of finally getting around to asking the question that had been circling his brain for weeks. "It's obvious she was a huge part of your life. And the way you knew exactly where she was? You didn't stop caring about her any more than she stopped caring about you."

"Yeah?" Jack's smile lit up at the thought, eyebrows rising once again and sending a fresh wave of blood spilling down the side of his face. "You think?"

"I know," Mac assured. "Now stop reopening this damn cut so you can get back out there and show her that you're fine."

"I wasn't hiding her from you or anything like that," Jack said softly, returning to Mac's original question. "Not on purpose. I just... I don't know. Talking would have made it feel too real and I didn't think in a million years I'd be getting a second chance with her. No point in reopening old wounds, if you will," He winked the eye just below where Mac was still holding pressure, trying to get him to stop bleeding.

"Hilarious," Mac rolled his eyes, biting down on the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from smiling. "You could have though. If you wanted to talk about her? You don't have any trouble oversharing every other detail about your life."

"I know," Jack nodded. "And that's an offer I might just take you up on one day. But I almost don't want to jinx it. And whatever happens, whatever comes of all this, it's got to be on her terms. She gets to make the calls here. I owe her that much, after walking away from her all those years ago." 

Mac nodded, unsure of what to say. He was an expert on people leaving, that much he knew, but having them come back was an entirely new concept for him. Whatever Jack had been expecting him to say, it must not have been the "Reach me those steri-strips?" that he ended up asking, nodding towards the open first-aid kit in the seat next to Jack.

He complied, handing over the package as asked, but there was a worried tension in his forehead that hadn't been there earlier and Mac knew his uncertainty hadn't gone unnoticed. "Hey," Jack began, waiting for a few tense breaths for Mac to meet his eyes before continuing. "You know there's room in this heart of mine for both of you, right?" 

"I know," Mac smiled. If there was anyone in the world with more than enough love to share, it was Jack Dalton. "I'm just not used to having to share you." Jack tried to respond but Mac kept talking, securing the bandages in place as he went to give his hands something to do during the conversation. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing. And having her here, back in your life, makes you happy. So I'm fine with it. Really. It's nice to have something good happen for a change." 

"You mean that?" Jack asked, brown eyes unwaveringly steady despite the sting as Mac finished patching him up. 

"I mean it," Mac promised, gathering the trash that had accumulated in one hand and wiping away the last traces of blood with the corner of the now-stained towel. "Go show her you're okay." 

"Thanks, kid," Jack grinned, clapping his hands against his thighs before standing up and giving Mac's shoulder a squeeze as he passed. 

"You deserve to be happy too," He said, turning back around. "Don't forget that." 

"I won't." 

Mac had thought Riley was lucky, but maybe he didn't need some long lost father figure showing back up in his life. He already had one that wouldn't leave him to begin with. And that was more than enough.


	11. Psych 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to keep reading, but this chapter isn't going to make much sense unless you've read Part One over in Mac's set.

Jack sat there scanning the horizon, watching the heat warp the flat lines of the desert while the last trails of air-conditioned comfort drifted out the cracks he had left in the windows to keep them from completely baking in the car, listening to Mac's breathing slowly even out beside him. Jack had expected Mac to curl up against him, head on his shoulder, when he finally was allowed to get some rest, but he hadn't. He was about as far away from Jack as he could get, and while that hurt Jack more than the now ever-present pounding ache in his chest, he couldn't blame the kid. Not after what he'd done. What Jack had asked him to do. The image of Mac standing over him with that gun in his hand would be forever burned into his brain. The guilt in his eyes as he had pulled the trigger had left Jack hating himself for not being able to come up with another solution. And clearly, Mac was just as upset, seeing as how he wouldn't even let Jack near him. All Jack could do was keep watch and hope that whatever nightmares were going to follow them home from their failed vacation would wait until they were actually home to strike

Falling asleep while on watch wasn't something Jack had ever done before-unless grabbing a few moments of fitful rest while waiting beside his partner's bedside in the hospital counted- but there was always a first time for everything. He didn't remember drifting off, exhaustion finally catching up with him and not letting his eyes reopen when they blinked closed. 

He slept through the car approaching, breaking up the bland emptiness of their surroundings with a trail of dust following, and the slam of the door as Matty climbed out from behind the wheel. It wasn't until she opened his own door, dislodging his head from its resting spot on the window, startling him, that he jolted awake. 

"Matty," He breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing at his eyes in an effort to fully wake up before remembering that he wasn't there alone and all his attention shifted to checking on Mac. The couple hours of sleep had eased some of the tremors out of his hands as he reached over and placed two fingers against Mac's neck, checking his pulse, ignoring the way the kid had managed to curl even further away from him while they had both been out instead of gravitating towards him like he usually would have. 

"Dalton, what the hell happened to you two?" She hissed, torn between needing answers and hating to wake her still-sleeping agent. 

"Told ya," Jack dropped back into his seat, snagging the water bottle out of the cup holder and downing another swig, not feeling too guilty about it since they weren't on their own anymore. "It went real bad on us." 

"Okay, I'm willing to let the details wait," She decided. "But you're covered in blood. I at least need to know how badly you two are hurt." 

"Not mine. Well, I guess technically it is, but it's not as bad as it looks," Jack promised, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his stained shirt and tugging it and his undershirt down for her to see his bruised but still intact chest. "But that was kinda the point." 

"Where's your car?" 

"Dunno. Don't think we made it too far out of LA though, 'fore we crashed." 

"You crashed your car?" 

"Well, till he crashed into us. I didn't really have any say in the matter." 

"Who's he?" 

"Griggs," Jack sighed, turning his head to peer out the back glass. "A CIA agent Mac and I tangled with back on our first DXS mission. Thought he was dead. He wasn't. Well, actually, he might be by now. Depending on how fast he bled out down there. I shot him, but a MacGyvered zip gun don't pack too much of a punch." 

"Okay, I'm going to pretend like that made sense," Matty decided. "And let you explain it further after you've been checked over." 

"We goin' home?" Jack asked. "Or is there a hospital room with our names on it nearby? Well, maybe two rooms since Mac don't wanna be anywhere near me at the moment." 

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Matty frowned, peering past Jack to get a look at Mac. "You two are usually inseparable after the bad ones." 

"You know how the kid don't like guns?" 

Matty sighed, preparing for another one of Jack's long-winded stories. "Yes, Jack. I'm aware."

"I made him point one at me. Pull the trigger and everything." He shuddered at the memory of darkness hardening Mac's eyes when they met his own over the pistol in Mac's hand. "It was just a blank, but we had to make it look real. I swore to him, Matty that as long as I was there he would never have to do somethin' like that. Hell, half the time I think that's the only reason he puts up with me and keeps me around. So he won't have to worry about carrying should the situation call for it. And now I've done gone and screwed that up because I couldn't think of another way."

"Hold up," Matty raised a resisting hand. "You think he's mad at you?" 

"Look at him, Matty," Jack turned his gaze back to Mac. "Why else would he be all the way over there shutting me out. You said it yourself, normally you'd be stuck trying to pry him away from me after what we went through the past few days." 

"Um, maybe because he thinks you're mad at him?"

"Now I know my brain ain't exactly firin' on all cylinders," Jack frowned, rubbing a hand across his forehead in an effort to stave off the headache he could already feel returning. "But that' don't even make sense. Why would he think I'm mad at him?"

"Have you seen the bruises that crazy plan left you with," Matty nodded towards his still-opened shirt. "I swear you two can be complete idiots sometimes. Neither of you are mad, you just assumed the other was, so you both pulled away which only made what you were worrying about seem true." She rolled her eyes. "You're lucky you can chalk this one up to sleep deprivation." 

"You didn't see it though, Matty," Jack protested, shaking his head. "That look in his eyes. I mean, obviously, the kid can shoot. He's a hell of a shot when you take him to the range, or whatever. But not this. And it wasn't just anyone he was starin' down the barrel at, it was me. He ain't gonna forget and forgive that." 

"Are you upset with him?" She asked gently, trying a different approach. "Was any of this his fault?" 

"No. Course not." 

"Then he's not mad at you," She promised. "Forget, no. You're right about that. He's going to struggle with this one. Which only means he needs you even more than usual right now. And as for forgiving? There's nothing there to forgive, Jack. Now wake him up and tell him that. 

"You really think?" 

"I know. I'll give you two a minute, I'm going to call and let local PD know where to find... Griggs? You said his name was?" 

Jack nodded. 

"And then we'll get you two to the hospital. I think we should probably get both of you checked out and rested up before we head all the way back home." 

"I can carry him," Jack protested, fondly looking over at Mac, still sound asleep, and hating the thought of waking him up. "And no, before you ask, it ain't even a stall tactic. The kid needs his rest." 

"So do you. Unless there's a reason he can't walk the three yards from this car to that one," She pointed over her shoulder. "You're not carrying him." 

Jack considered arguing, or at the very least fleshing out some little white lie that would fit into her stipulations and let him do just that, playing into the loophole she had left open, but now that the seed of an idea that Mac really wasn't upset with him had been planted he couldn't let it go. He needed to see if she was right, if maybe he hadn't broken things beyond repair. 

And his chest really did hurt. Carrying Mac wouldn't be fun. 

It was a decision he regretted when Mac jolted awake at the first touch of Jack's hand against his shoulder. His fear lessened for the briefest of moments when his eyes focused enough to realize that it was only Jack encroaching in his personal space, but then he noticed the splash of blood against his partner's chest and recoiled as if he had been burned. 

"No. No, I didn't... it's not-"

"Easy, hoss," Jack soothed, pulling his hand away just enough that he could no longer feel Mac's shoulders shaking beneath his palm but not far enough that Mac would think he was moving because he didn't want to touch him. "I'm alright." 

"I shot you?" The inflection at the end sent a pang through Jack's chest that rivaled getting slammed with the hunk of metal from earlier. 

"Naw, kiddo, not really," Jack promised. "It was a blank, remember?" 

"No," Mac shook his head, eyes locked on the splash of blood on Jack's chest. "No, but I remember pulling the trigger and watching you die." 

"And I'm fully expecting you to contact whoever Oscar and Emmy are. Maybe even Tony. You know, the ones that are in charge of all those awards shows Bozer's always gripin' about? To get my impressive acting skills a nomination next award season," Jack teased. "It's all good, brother. I'm fine. Promise."

"I shot you," Mac repeated, his gaze unwavering. He didn't ask it this time though, so Jack decided to call it progress and keep going.

"Not really," He said again. "Can I see your hand?" He held out his own, hoping the trust Mac had in him was too far ingrained to have faded away completely and he would give Jack a chance to prove himself. "I won't hurt you." 

"I know that," Mac frowned and reached out his hand automatically as if the idea of Jack ever causing him harm was bizarre enough that he momentarily forgot to be worried. 

"Check for yourself," Jack encouraged softly, placing Mac's hand flat against his chest, the bloodstained fabric resisting the movement. "I'm still in one piece." 

"It wasn't real," Mac sagged in relief and Jack wondered for a brief second if he would need to catch him to keep up upright. 

"Nope," Jack smiled, risking overstepping the personal space boundaries Mac was still abiding by and carding a careful hand through Mac's hair, brushing sweat-dried strands away from his forehead. "Just a trick. A real believable one." 

"You're still hurt," Mac blinked a few times, hard, dragging himself a little more awake and tugging down Jack's shirt to see the bruises beneath. "I hurt you. Maybe not with the bullet but-" 

"Hey," Jack cut him off, nudging his hand out of the tight grip that had formed over his collar and ducking to meet wide blue eyes. "This ain't on you. It was as much my plan as it was yours. I could have said no if I wasn't okay with it. You don't get to shoulder the blame for this one yourself." 

"You're not mad?" Mac sent him a hopeful glance but couldn't hold his gaze, eyes flicking away with worry and self-doubt only to return moments later. 

"I'm not mad," Jack assured, gathering up as much strength and conviction as he could to put behind the words. "Are you mad? At me?" He asked, moving on to the next problem on the list. "Cause, like I said, I knew I could opt out if I wanted. And you didn't really get that choice. You had a very specific role down there and I know it's one you never wanted to find yourself playing." 

"I'm not mad," Mac frowned, the idea of him even having the right to be upset had never crossed his mind. "Why would I be upset? I thought you were mad at me."

"Maybe Matty's right and we really are a couple'a boneheads," Jack laughed, leaning back in his seat, feeling as though the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. "You're sure?" 

"I'm sure," Mac smiled. "Though I think we might be allowed to blame this one on exhaustion. Wait, Matty?" 

"We gotta blame it on something if you're still too out of it to notice the other car that showed up while you were napping," Jack teased. "Apparently we scared her up enough that she came to check on us herself. Brought out the big guns." 

The poor choice of words made Mac flinch, his hand suddenly filled with the phantom weight of the gun he had trained on his partner's chest. 

"Sorry," Jack apologized. "My bad. No gun talk, not even jokes, for a nice long while." 

"Agreed," Mac nodded. "If Matty's here does that mean we can go home?" 

"I think she's booked us a hospital stay for a day or two," Jack hedged. Hospitals were always a touchy subject with his boy, even on a good day. "It ain't the Lancelot suite we had planned, but with the way we're feelin' right now? I think we might sleep right through it and not even care."

"Yeah," Mac agreed, finally breaking aware from Jack's gaze to look around, taking in his surroundings and locking on the opened doors to the bunker. "Yeah, let's get out of here." 

Their doors closing in tandem as they left the car broke through the quiet landscape, sending a lizard who had taken shelter in the shade the vehicle provided scuttling to safety-not unlike the two of them were as they made their way towards Matty's awaiting rental. "What about Griggs?" Mac asked softly. 

"There's a team coming to check on him," Jack answered, choosing his words carefully. "And I guess what happens will depend on what they find when they get here. I ain't climbin' back down in that hole to find out." 

"I don't know which is worse," Mac stopped once he reached his door, the seat behind Matty. "Knowing we killed him or knowing he's still going to be out there somewhere." 

"We didn't kill him, buddy," Jack sighed. It wasn't that he didn't care. He never took the act of having to take a life lightly, but it came easier to him than it did Mac. "He died a long time ago. Either way. He didn't make it out any more than Hadley did. But no matter what, he ain't going to hurt you again, that much's for damn sure." 

Mac nodded, hand coming to rest on the door handle, signaling that he was done discussing it. He wasn't done processing what had happened and Jack knew it. Really, he hadn't even begun. But they were getting out and that was a good place to start. 

"Go on. Climb in," Jack patted the hood of the car as he walked around it, giving Matty a nod that they were ready to go. "I'm right beside you." 

Mac hadn't known how literally Jack intended to keep that promise until he fell into the seat next to him-passing over the passenger seat in favor of sprawling out across the back with Mac-but the implications behind the action weren't lost on Mac. He really wasn't upset and was still willing to keep his place at Mac's side. 

He offered a shaky smile and Jack shot him an answering wink, knowing that he had made the right decision and Mac had taken everything he had hoped he would from the simple gesture. 

"You boys ready to leave this place?" Matty asked, looking at the two of them in the rearview mirror. 

"Hell yeah," Jack answered for the both of them. "If we ever see this place again it'll be way too soon." He knew, realistically, that the chances of that particular patch of earth reappearing in their dreams was almost a guarantee. That they were nowhere close to being over the traumatic experiences that had happened there, but he shifted a little closer to the middle seat, shoulder angled just so, and that time Mac leaned in instead of moving away. 

It wasn't over. Finally being able to escape was only the first step. But long before Griggs's car had faded out of sight, lost in the haze of heat, Mac and Jack were both asleep, managing to somehow be leaning one another while still holding the other up. And that, Matty thought, happy to do her part in helping put the bunker behind them, was the perfect way to sum up Mac and Jack's entire partnership. It hadn't been the one they were planning on, but maybe their manniversary had been a success after all.


	12. I Think I've Broken Something

"You're not going with them."

"Like hell I ain't," Jack growled, fumbling to catch his balance as he rose to stand, balancing precariously on his uninjured leg. "They're not going alone, Matty."

She turned to the they in question, Mac and Riley sitting side by side in the set of matching armchairs in the War Room. They both shook their heads, just enough to convey that neither of them was willing to get in the way of a determined Jack Dalton. They weren't taking sides, if Matty was going to stand her ground she was doing it on her own. "You have a broken leg, Jack," She sighed, nodding towards the boot and pair of shiny new crutches propped up beside the couch he had been stretched out sideways on. "A broken leg that hasn't even had a week of healing yet. You're so far from being medically cleared it isn't even funny. I can't send you out."

"Then you shouldn't have called me in," he shrugged, determined. If there was anyone who could out-stubborn Matty Webber, it was him.

"I didn't. I called Mac and Riley in. Nowhere in that message did it say for you to tag along too."

"We're a package deal, me and Mac. You should know that by now."

"And he was with me when the call came in," Mac spoke up. "Didn't really give me a choice."

"You're still staying with Mac?" Matty frowned, the original discussion pushed to the back burner as she wondered if the broken leg that had grounded one of her best - and favorite, though she would never admit that to him- agents was giving him more trouble than he let on.

"Yeah, the worrywart kid says it ain't safe, me hopping up and down the stairs to my apartment on these crutches," Jack shot Mac a twisted face conveying just how stupid he thought that fear was, drawing on everything short of sticking out his tongue. "I keep telling' him that it's just part of the challenge, you know, keeping life exciting and all that, but he won't listen."

"Well, thank goodness one of you has a functioning brain," Matty rolled her eyes dramatically, feigning annoyance to mask her relief. "Weird personal challenges aside, I still can't send you on a mission, Jack. Too much of a risk. Mac and Riley are perfectly capable of handling this one on their own. It's-"

"Don't you dare say it, Matty," Jack warned, holding up a hand to stop her. "You know once you say… that, you cast some kind of curse that makes everything go wrong. You know, you've already thought it though. That's probably enough to activate the bad mojo. I gotta go now since you had to go and jinx 'em. Someone's gotta watch their backs."

"Because you can take out so many threats while hopping along behind them on crutches."

"We'll never know 'less we try."

Mac and Riley, who had been watching the discussion go down, eyes bouncing between Jack and Matty like they were following a tennis match, broke their stares to share a knowing look, knowing the exact moment Matty's determination waned.

"You're not allowed off the plane," She offered up a compromise slowly.

"Nope," Jack popped the 'p' at the end of the word, not backing down. "That don't work for me. I go where they go. If this one really is as easy as you say they should be able to handle it without leavin' the plane themselves. If that ain't the case, I'm following."

"Jack. Drive in, pick up a package, drive out. That's it. It would probably take longer for you to crawl on and off the jet than it would for them to complete the whole mission."

"If it's not time-sensitive then they can wait on me," Jack shrugged. "And who said anything about crawling? I'll have you know I'm pretty quick on these bad boys," He reached over and picked up the crutches, giving them an impressive twirl to prove his point.

"Neither of you are willing to back me up on this?" Matty asked, turning to the two younger agents.

"He's going stir crazy," Mac offered his partner a sympathetic smile, knowing all too well the level of boredom Jack was running on. "Piled up on my couch all day. If this one really is nothing more than a basic reconnaissance mission I don't see why he can't come along."

"Thank you! See, Matty, even Mac agrees. You pay me to watch out for these kids, how am I supposed to do that while I'm sittin' here annoying you?"

"I was hoping you would go home," she rolled her eyes. "But fine. Go. Get out of my hair. If you get hurt worse, it's not my fault."

Jack was swinging his way out the door to the War Room balancing on crutches fast enough that Mac and Riley had to scramble to keep up with him.

"He's gonna be fine, right?" Riley asked, following the sound of Jack's crutches clacking down the hallway.

Mac shrugged. "Guess we'll find out."

* * *

They had been in the air for a little over an hour before Mac decided he couldn't stand watching Jack fidgeting in his seat anymore. He crossed the aisle and dropped down into the chair beside the older man, careful to avoid bumping into the leg that was clearly hurting him more than he wanted anyone to realize. "You sure this was a good idea? It's not like you have a point to prove or anything, I don't know why you were fighting so hard to come with us on this when you're clearly miserable."

"It ain't that I don't think you and Ri can handle it," Jack was quick to assure. "But I'm supposed to be here. I don't want one little broken bone to get someone thinkin' I can't do my job."

"Nobody thinks that," Mac promised. "And with as much time as you spend taking care of us, it's okay to make sure you're taking care of you too."

"I have been. All week," He reminded Mac with a pointed look. "I'm good to go."

"You aren't though," Mac protested softly, shaking his head. "I can tell you're hurting. And four days doesn't exactly qualify as a full week."

"I'm fine."

"Have you taken anything?" Mac raised an eyebrow, knowing the answer. "To take the edge off?"

"Nope. Not gonna either. Not on the job. I'm fine." One look at Mac's disapproving glare and he let some of his defenses fall. "I'm okay, bud. Really. And even if I wanted to I couldn't. Conveniently left that little orange bottle back home."

"Totally hypothetical," Mac lied, ducking his head in hopes that Jack wouldn't catch it. "But how mad would you be if I told you I kinda had a feeling this was how today was gonna go and I grabbed your meds on the way out the door?"

"Of course you did," Jack leaned his head back against the seat and blew out an aggravated huff. "Takes a whole lot more'n that for me to be mad at you but I still ain't takin' 'em."

"Hey, I said hypothetically," Mac grinned. He had expected as much but it was worth trying.

"Well, then I might, hypothetically, agree to take one when we're on our way back home," Jack teased, playfully digging an elbow into Mac's ribs. "If that'll make everyone feel better about this. Don't know why you're stressing. Matty promised this one would be a piece of cake."

The two of them shared a look, knowing from experience that curse or no curse, those ops had a tendency to go bad.

They were right.

* * *

The porch of the house that was serving as their drop point was suspiciously empty when Mac rolled the car to a stop in the driveway. "That's encouraging," he sighed.

"Maybe Matty's informant misunderstood the instructions?" Riley offered hopefully. "And he dropped it off inside? Thought it was safer that way, than just leaving it on the porch, so someone passing by wouldn't see an opportunity to make a few bucks and steal it?"

"Yeah, cause things like this always work out in our favor," Jack spoke up from the back seat. A spot in the car he wasn't often found, but the premise of being able to stretch his leg out across the seat instead of leaving it cramped underneath the dash had been worth the positional downgrade. "Somethin's up and I don't like it. What are we lookin' for exactly?"

"File said a messenger bag," Mac leaned closer in his seat, chest nearly pressed against the steering wheel as he strained to see into the shadows of the porch, searching for something that wasn't there. "So it wouldn't look suspicious when Matty's informant was delivering it. But we don't have details about size or color or anything. It's not there, regardless. I'm going inside, maybe Riley's right. This house is empty, it's an out-of-service safe house, the door's probably unlocked. They might have set it inside."

"Hang on, lemme go clear it," Jack grunted, shifting to try and reach his crutches out of the floor well.

"Not happening," Mac's hand automatically landed on the control panel beneath his window, effectively locking all the doors in the car with one switch. "You're not getting out of the car."

"And you're not going into an uncleared house," Jack countered, his glare no less threatening when it was reflected in the rearview mirror.

"Fine," Riley leaned across the middle console, arm stretching past Mac and quickly unlocking the doors. "I'll do it." She was out of the car, making her way up the cracked asphalt of the driveway and towards the house before either of them had a chance to protest.

"Now look what you did, " Jack grumbled, fumbling for his door, fully intending to follow Riley.

"Stop, just," Mac sighed, spinning in his seat so he could look at Jack and keep an eye on Riley, who was searching the porch, hoping that maybe the package they were meant to pick up was there somewhere and they just couldn't see it from the car. "Stay here. Please? I'll go after her, we'll be fine. Do a quick sweep of the house, if it's not there we'll be right back. Call Matty from the safety of the car, okay? But I can't keep an eye on Riley and you both. I'm not as good as playing overwatch as you are."

"It ain't somethin' you play," Jack mumbled under his breath, resolve beginning to crumble as in the back of his mind he knew he wasn't at his best and actually would slow his kids down. He was still futilely trying to come up with a plan that involved him staying close to the rest of his team when Riley swung the front door to the house open and both he and Mac tensed. "Yeah, okay, you win. I'll stay here. Go check on her. But both of you be careful," He ordered, his need to keep both of them safe outweighing the stubborn streak that was screaming at him that it didn't count unless he had assured that safety himself.

Jack sat, muscles tensed, despite the added strain that put on his already hurting leg, one hand on the crutches he had pulled into his lap, the other hovering over the door handle. Watching the quiet little house, eyes scanning for any movement from inside. He was able to recognize the familiar shadows of Mac and Riley passing by the sheer curtains of the front room but after that, he was left blind to what was happening inside. It didn't mean he wasn't going to be ready though, fully prepared to ignore Mac's instructions to stay inside the car at the first sign that his kids needed him.

Another figure passed by the window of the front room. Jack would have thought it was one of his kids, double-checking, searching for the bag they were sent to retrieve, making sure they had checked every possible place it could be hidden before calling the entire op a bust. But it moved differently and he was instantly on high alert. A hand parted the dusty curtains, prying the window open and a greasy man, close to Mac's age, climbed through the opening, the black messenger bag slung across his shoulder nearly getting caught on the windowsill.

"Don't get out of the car, Jack," He muttered to himself as he rolled his window down. "We've got this all on our own, Jack. We don't need you, Jack." He wasn't sure if the guy trying to escape with the central piece of what had been promised to be a simple mission was the informant, off to try and double-cross them, or a run-of-the-mill thief who just happened to be in the right place at the right time, but either way, Jack wasn't going to let it happen.

Phoenix issued cars, even the rentals that were set up and waiting for them at the airport, always had heavily tinted windows. It was something Jack hadn't really had to appreciate until the man crept past the car, not noticing it's occupant in the back seat. By the time he made it to Jack's side, too focused on glancing back over his shoulder every two steps to make sure Mac and Riley hadn't noticed him, it was too late. With the precise aim of a sniper, Jack shoved one of his crutches out the window, snagging the strap of the messenger bag and yanking it back and into the car with him. The young man spun around, barely having time to send Jack a confused look before the crutch was pummeling back out the window and into his nose, knocking him to the ground where he lay, a steady stream of blood dripping from between his fingers as Jack pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Mac's number without even looking at the screen.

"You okay?" Mac asked, voice low, as soon as he picked up. He was still on alert, not knowing that Jack had both took out the threat and completed the mission, all while following instructions and never leaving the car.

" 'Course I am," He rolled his eyes. "Can't say the same for the guy whose nose I just broke, though. He seems to be in a world of hurt. You might wanna call someone 'bout that before we get out of here. Oh, got the package, though. In the car, waiting on you." He couldn't help the smug grin that broke out as finished the call. "And y'all were worried I would slow you down."


	13. Breathe In, Breathe Out

Jack had grown used to the noise of gunfire over the years. It was such a common sound in his everyday life, had been for so long, that it often drifted to the background of his awareness, prompting action, which more often than not required him returning fire, rather than focusing on the noise itself. Which is why he was so focused on scanning the rafters, searching for the location of the gunman shooting at them, needing to take the threat out before a round hit the kid he was supposed to be protecting, that he didn't even realize there was one coming for him until it slammed into his chest.

He had dutifully strapped his Kevlar on over his shirt as they pulled up to the abandoned building, complaining that Mac had refused to do the same despite the fact that Jack always made sure to pack a couple of extra vests and have them on hand, hoping his stubborn partner would change his mind about his own safety being a priority one day. There was a tiny corner of his brain that was thankful for the fact that he had been hit instead of Mac, and another corner that was wondering how they managed to get lucky enough for the merc they were chasing to have decided to escape while Jack was down, instead of sticking around to take them both out. The rest of his mind was screaming at him, pain overriding all other functions as he tried to remember how to breathe with what felt like a semi-truck crushing his chest.

He pried open watering eyes, squinting through the haze of pain that was clouding his senses, locking his focus in on the younger man staring down at him in panic. Mouth gaped open, paler than Jack had ever seen, he was terrified and Jack didn't have the air to convince him that he was fine. Moving anything, no matter how careful the move was, sent shockwaves of pain coursing through him, but he fought through it, inching a hand across the grimy floor to latch on to the hem of Mac's pant leg. It was enough to break through the trance and Mac dropped to his knees beside Jack as soon as his lungs decided they had gone long enough without doing their job and inflated his chest with a heaving wheeze that sent the rafters above him spinning before they, and everything else around him, faded to black.

It wasn't Mac's proudest moment, freezing, unable to move, locked into place by fear as Jack collapsed onto the floor beside him. He knew that he had been wearing his vest, that as much as it hurt, he would be fine. He couldn't convince his heart of that though, as it began pumping ice water through his veins a constant loop of deep-rooted fears bubbling to the surface. _This is it, he's gone. You're on your own now. Spent his life keeping you safe and you couldn't do the same for him._ It wasn't until he felt Jack's hand lock, grip weak and trembling, onto his leg that he was able to push those fears back down into the neat little compartmentalized boxes he kept them in and focus on the truth. Facts. He liked facts. Facts were solid and didn't change and had science to back them up. And while there was a dull shine of metal piercing the rough fabric right in the middle of Jack's vest, he was alive and Mac had the facts to prove it.

He winced in sympathy as Jack drew in his first ragged breath, Mac's fingers moving automatically to the rapidly pounding pulse in his neck just as his body went limp, head lolling towards Mac's hand. "No, no, no, Jack, come on," He pleaded, needing familiar brown eyes looking up, hurting and struggling but conscious and aware. The closed eyes and unmoving body, which was supposed to be so filled with life, was too close to being gone and Mac's panic ticked up another notch. "Jack, wake up. I know you're hurting, but you gotta wake up," Before he was even aware that he was doing it, shaking hands of his own were reaching out and pulling away the straps of the vest, Velcro tearing loudly through the empty building. Buttons pinged across the floor as Mac tore through the shirt, revealing already-forming bruises but nothing worse. "You're okay," he whispered, voice hoarse, catching and breaking as the rush of panic gave way to a wave of relief. "You're okay."

"Course I am," Jack ground out an answer, waking up, hardwired to react to Mac's needs, even unconscious. A fumbling hand reached up, weakly wrapping around Mac's wrist. "You good?"

"Am I good?" Mac couldn't hold back the rush of nearly hysterical laughter that escaped at the absurdity of the question, letting his free hand try and wipe away the tears that had leaked out against his will before realizing that Jack was serious. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. You just scared me."

"Look as bad as it feels?" Jack asked, hovering a hand over his chest before deciding against touching the bruises

"Not yet, but I'm sure it will," Mac sighed, settling back on his heels and trying to convince his racing pulse to slow down. "That one was way too close."

Jack nodded, agreeing. "Always forget how much it hurts," he winced as he rolled his shoulders. "Takin' one to the vest like that? Swear an actual bullet don't hurt this bad."

"Yeah, well, if it hadn't been for that vest," Mac pointed out, eyes landing on the tiny bullet embedded in the dark grey vest. "You wouldn't be around to be feeling it."

"True. This enough of a close call to convince you to start wearin' one?" Jack asked hopefully, raising an eyebrow at Mac, beginning to see the after-effects of the sheer panic that was still written all over his face. "Cause I'm fine, kiddo. You wouldn't be though if he had his sights set on you instead of me. That fear you're battling? Thinkin' this was the end of the line for me? I would have been stuck feelin' that for reals if he'd went for you."

"Yeah, maybe," Mac forced a shaky smile. He wasn't ready to agree to always wearing full tac gear on every mission, that was almost as unpractical as it was uncomfortable, but he understood Jack's reasoning, his habit of never wanting to let Mac out of the house unless he was wrapped head to toe in bulletproof bubblewrap. And he had been in that exact position Mac was nearly in, holding an unconscious partner who bleeding out on the shores of Lake Como, cursing the bullet that had torn through his flesh and begging every higher power who would listen not to take him away. "I'll consider it."

"That's a start," Jack smiled. "Think you can give me a hand sittin' up?"

"You sure that's a good idea?" Mac asked, eyebrow raised even as he moved to slip one arm beneath Jack's shoulders and wrapped the other firmly around Jack's hand.

"Naw, it's gonna hurt like hell," Jack hissed out through gritted teeth as he moved, panting against the pain shifting positions had caused. He looked down once the room had stopped spinning around him, getting his first look at the damage. "What, you had to go and tear my shirt all to shreds?" He teased, realizing there were no buttons left attached to refasten. "This was a nice shirt, dude."

"Didn't tear it," Mac protested, keeping a hand on Jack's back, holding him steady. "Just the buttons. You can sew those back on. Or, well, probably not the same ones, cause they kinda went flying, but we can get new ones. You're gonna be off duty for a day or two, perfect time for an arts and crafts project."

"Jack Dalton don't sew."

"I've got multiple scars you've stitched up that would say otherwise," Mac argued, falling back into their usual banter as they both caught their breath and came down from the adrenaline crash of a close call. "I think you can handle a few buttons."

"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya," Jack muttered, knowing that there was no point in arguing the difference between resewing a lost button and stitching up a wound on a kid who was never supposed to be hurt in the first place. "But I don't need a couple days off. That's crazy, Mac. I didn't even get hit. Not really."

"Tell that to those bruises," Mac rolled his eyes, though it was mostly for show. The fact that Jack was feeling well enough to argue that he was fine was a far cry from where they had been moments earlier and Mac was eternally grateful for the change. "This knocked you on your ass. Literally. You're taking a couple days."

"If I'm off roster, you are too," Jack countered. "You ain't goin' out in the field without me there."

"Deal," Mac agreed. He wasn't exactly thrilled about the idea of letting Jack out of his sight any time soon.

"And injured party gets complete control of the remote," Jack added. "That's just common courtesy."

"Thought you weren't hurt?"

"Hey, this whole medical leave idea was all yours," Jack reminded with a smirk, holding both hands up in surrender. "I don't make the rules, I just follow 'em."

"You have never, not once in your entire life, seen a rule you haven't instantly wanted to break."

"I don't know, that whole thing about takin' care of my skinny little bomb nerd, I took that one pretty seriously. Pretty sure I went above and beyond followin' that one."

"Yeah," Mac ducked his head, hiding the latest wave of emotions that were threatening to break free from his eyes. "Yeah, that one you did."


	14. Is Something Burning?

"Ow."

"Sorry," Mac sighed, setting the tweezers in his hand down on the broad expanse of his partner's bare shoulders and stretching his cramping fingers for a moment. "I know this sucks."

"What, you pickin' pieces of a burnt shirt outta my skin?" Jack turned his head, pillowed on his folded arms, as much as he could but it wasn't enough to get more than a quick glimpse of Mac out of the corner of his peripheral vision. The guilt he saw there was enough for him to try and compensate with humor to diffuse the situation. "Naw, highlight of my day, dude."

"You don't have to pretend like it doesn't hurt," Mac reminded him, not for the first time since he had dug the barely-stocked first aid kit out of the cabinet of the safe house Matty had directed them to in the middle of yet another mission gone wrong and began the process of cutting away Jack's burn riddled shirt. Unfortunately, just as Mac had feared when he was finally able to stop long enough to check his partner over for injuries. the places where falling embers had landed as Jack ran from an explosion had seared through the fabric and melded with the skin of his back.

"Hardly nothin'," Jack waved off the pain. "Layin' on this table, though? That's a different story. Hope you're almost done cause this thing is killing my back."

Mac smiled. He had no doubt that the rickety old dining room table he had pestered Jack until he agreed to lay down on was far from comfortable but that was the least of their problems. "Just the table, huh? Not the burns I'm pulling pieces of your fifth favorite Metallica t-shirt out of?"

"Sixth," Jack corrected automatically. "This one got bumped out of the top five after the one we got when we went to that show for my birthday a few months back."

"Oh, well I don't feel so bad about slicing it to shreds then," Mac laughed, deflecting away from the implication behind his partner's words

"You're doin' fine, kid," Jack assured. "We're good. I'm alright, don't worry about me. Just get it done, we still got a job to finish."

"We should have called this one in," Mac sighed, picking the tweezers back up and focusing his sights on a burn between Jack's shoulder blades. "Had Matty send another team out to finish it. We did all the hard work, got the groundwork laid, all they would have had to do is come in and finish it up."

"Exactly," Jack's voice grew tense as he tried to speak through the pain restarting. "We did it all, we're drivin' this one home. Not lettin' another team come in and get all the glory for finishin' this one up when the real heroes are you and me."

"You shouldn't have to keep going when you're hurt though. And I know you don't want to admit it, but I'm sure this hurts."

"Think it's hurtin' you way more than it is me, hoss," Jack reburied his face back in the darkness of his forearms so he wouldn't have to worry about remembering to hide a wince as Mac tugged at a particularly melted piece of fabric. "Cause I'm _fine_." The last word morphed into a barely-contained yelp.

"Not sure what that squeak right there was," Mac rolled his eyes at his partner's failed attempt at hiding his pain. The teasing would have sounded cruel to an untrained ear, but it was the best way to deal with a hurting Jack Dalton, he had learned over the years. Jack didn't respond well to soothing words and gentle touches. Distractions and jokes and blatantly ignoring the actual problem, that was more comforting to Jack than anything else Mac could have done to help him through. "But it sounded far from fine."

"Keep goin'," Jack instructed, huffing out a breath. "Made it this far, we're seein' it through."

"Okay," Mac agreed, continuing, even though he wanted nothing more than to pack up the first aid kit, haul Jack to the closest car he could hotwire, and get them both to exfil, mission be damned. "If you're sure."

Jack nodded, so Mac continued, finishing up on the current burn he was working on and shifting his focus to the next one, high on Jack's ribcage that he had been avoiding because he knew it was probably going to be worse than the rest. "Almost done. Just one more but, it's not gonna be fun, buddy. It's bigger than some of the rest and where it's at, it's gonna hurt."

"Do your worst," Jack offered a shaky smile, pulling in a few breaths during the brief respite.

"We're almost done," Mac repeated, though he wasn't sure if he was reminding himself or Jack. His face twisted into a grimace of commiseration as he got a grip on the piece of singed fabric and pulled it away from Jack's burnt skin. To his dismay, it didn't come free in one piece, leaving strands of thread behind, embedded in oozing flesh.

"That it?" Jack asked, not quite able to mask the hopeful tone in his voice at the premise of the pain being over.

"Not quite, sorry," Mac bit his lip as he leaned closer, tugging at an individual thread, focusing on the way the colors changed, from it's original grey to singed black that faded into blood-soaked red. "Gotta make sure to get it all, the risk of infection is high enough since we’re postponing actual medical help.”

“Yeah, probably not a bad idea,” Jack agreed, trying not to let too much disappointment leak through in his voice. “Better safe than sorry and all that. Do whatever you need to do, hoss, I’m fine.”

He wasn’t, fine, far from it, Mac knew that. But he also knew that Jack would put his own issues aside to take care of his partner and do what he asked, so if Jack was determined to tough it out and see the mission through to the end, Mac was going to make sure he did his part in helping him reach that finish line. He might not make it there all in one piece, but he wouldn’t be alone either, and sometimes that was enough.


	15. Into The Unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not supposed to turn into Mac angst. I swear it wasn't.

Jack woke up to find Mac asleep in the chair next to his bed. His head propped up on his fist, perilously balanced on the arm of the chair. It was worth the pull of pain moving caused as he reached across the space between them to knock that arm out of the way, sending Mac's hand falling and his head jerking up as he was suddenly woken up.

"You're awake!" He exclaimed, a relieved smile splitting his face before he remembered he was in a hospital and was supposed to be quiet. "How are you feeling? Are you okay? Should I call someone? They said I could call someone if you woke up and were hurting. Are you hurting?"

"Mac, dude take a breath," Jack soothed, laying back in the bed and catching his own breath, breathing through the pain, unwilling to admit to its existence. "I'm fine. You been here all night?" A glance out the window at the navy blue light and the wrinkles in Mac's t-shirt had answered that question before he even asked it, but he was curious to see if Mac would be honest with him.

"Um, yeah," Mac ducked his head, unsure if he had made a bad call with staying at Jack's side. "Is that weird? Sorry. That's weird. I can go..."

"Nah, stay. I’m just not used to wakin' up in a place like this with an audience. Not that you were awake yourself," Jack teased.

"See? It was weird," Mac's cheeks turned red. " I almost didn't stay, went back to base, but I wanted to make sure you were going to be alright before I left," he explained. "And then I started thinking that you wouldn't leave me, or, at least, I didn’t think you would. Not until I was awake. So I thought… Sorry."

"Quit your apologizin'," Jack grinned. "Said it wasn't something I was used to, not that it bothered me."

"You're not mad?"

"Not even a little," Jack promised. "And I'm guessing that since you had stopped worryin' long enough to fall asleep, I'm gonna be alright?"

"Yeah," Mac nodded, blonde hair falling over his forehead at the movement, long enough that it was way past regulation length. Jack wasn't going to be the one to drag him to the barbers though. The way he saw it, the kid had saved enough lives with the number of bombs he had disarmed in the single year he had been in the desert that he had earned the right to keep his hair however he wanted. Though the longer it got, the more difficult Jack was finding it to keep from reaching out and brushing it back into place. "They're saying you might even get to bust out of here sometime tomorrow. Which, I guess is now technically today."

"Sounds good," Jack relaxed back into his pillows. "Even if you did do all that overreactin' for nothing."

"Yeah, I could call in and request a ride back to base? If you want me gone."

"Naw," Jack shook his head. "No point in doing that. Not when you can ride back in whatever bird they send after me tomorrow. Again, I don't mind the company. Just different. Uncharted territory."

"Seriously?" One of Mac's eyebrows disappeared into his hair. "All those scars and you never one time woke up in a hospital with someone waiting for you? I find that hard to believe." It didn't seem fair, that as protective as Jack was, he didn't have anyone to return the favor when he needed it.

"Wrong business for that," Jack shrugged and instantly regretted it when the move sent shockwaves of pain throughout his body, leaving him unable to tell where one hurt ended and another one began. "Though there was that time I had my appendix out as a kid. Not much younger than you are, actually."

"I'm not a kid," Mac argued, just as Jack had known he would.

"Hey, I said I was younger. Probably fourteen or fifteen."

"I'm not even a teenager anymore," Mac continued as if Jack wasn’t still talking.

"Barely. You're barely not even a teenager anymore," Jack corrected. "You want me to finish the story or not?"

"Depends," Mac smirked. "Are you telling it just to hear yourself talk or is there an actual point you're trying to make?"

"All my stories have a point, hoss. You just gotta know where to look for 'em. Now, as I was saying…" he trailed off with a pointed look sent Mac's way, waiting for permission to continue.

Mac rolled his eyes. "Go ahead."

"I had my appendix out as a kid. Speakin’ of those scars, I’m pretty sure I still got the one from that. This was before all those fancy laser surgeries they do now. Actually had to cut me open for it. Kinda terrifying. And my pops was there waitin' on me when I woke up. That was nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jack smiled at the memory. "He was never the most touchy-feely guy, but I was real glad he was there. Don't remember much else about that particular hospital stay, but I remember that he made it better. I don't even know that he did anything, ‘cept being there. It was just knowing that he was there that helped. But you know how it is with dads."

"No," Mac huffed a laugh. "I can't say that I do. Not dads like that, at least. But it sounds nice."

"Aw, come on, now," Jack frowned. "It's you, even younger of a kid than you are now, layin' in that bed waking up from surgery, and you mean to tell me your old man wouldn't have been there?" 

"Seeing as how he'd already left about five years before this hypothetical surgery ever happened?" Mac shrugged, turning back to the window as he spoke, finding it easier to talk to the pre-dawn light than it was his overwatch. "No, no he wouldn't have been there. Even if he had still been around, he wouldn't do the whole hospital thing. Not after my mom died." 

Jack had put together bits and pieces of Mac's story over the months they had been working together. Enough to know that the kid's mom had died young and his dad wasn't a huge part of his life, but hearing just how bad it had been still sent a pang of hurt through his chest, no matter how prepared he thought he was to hear it. "Seriously?"

"It's not like he would have exactly been comforting to have there even if he was," Mac scoffed. "He would have spent the whole time trying to tell everyone how to do their jobs and complaining that the medical equipment wasn't as efficient as it should have been." 

"Even with his son scared and hurting there?" Jack was seriously beginning to regret his story of choice. Maybe he didn't want to know any more about Mac's upbringing, because all it did was leave him angry and upset for the kid. 

"I would have gotten the "Man up, Angus. Pain is a part of life." lecture. If it was a good day. A bad day would have left him telling me that I should be grateful because I'd get to walk out of the hospital. That my mom never got that chance and she didn't complain about it, so why should he have to listen to me do it." 

And with that quiet admission all of Jack's emotions shifted into anger. "I'm sorry, kid. That sucks. All of it. You shouldn't have had to deal with that. But someone would have been there with you, right?" He couldn't stand the thought of a younger Mac, because he still looked too damn young to have gone through everything the world had already thrown him, alone. "Once he was gone?" 

"My grandpa," Mac answered automatically, a smile chasing away the clouds in his eyes that had gathered from talking about his father. "He would have been there. Or Bozer. Maybe his whole family, actually."

Those were names Jack knew, ones he didn't have to con his way into getting stories about. The grandfather who took Mac in and had done his best to raise the son his daughter never got to finish raising and the childhood best friend who was the closest thing Mac had left to family after Harry had passed. There was a care package for Mac that arrived monthly, like clockwork, from Bozer, filled with little comforts of home. Though Jack had never met him in person, he had started sending things for Jack as well, once he and Mac were partnered up, and each delivery marked a new cookie recipe-though Mac had made Jack swear never to tell Bozer they were practically crumbs by the time they reached them- that would rival some of his mama's. 

"I'm sure Harry would have been there for you," Jack said. "Bozer too probably. Arguing with the nurses against the visiting age restrictions, annoying them until they finally gave in and let him see you." 

That image got Mac to laugh. "Hold up, I thought I was fifteen in this scenario? Why wouldn't he be allowed?" 

"Cause you barely look fifteen now, dude. Actual fifteen year old you? You couldn't have looked a day over ten. At the most. They probably would have kept you in the pediatric wing and everything. And they're a lot stricter about those kinds of rules and stuff there." 

The familiar banter and teasing eased the last traces of worry away from Mac's heart and he felt as though he could finally remember how to breathe. "You really are going to be okay, aren't you?" He asked, relieved, finally allowing himself to believe it. 

"Yeah, buddy, I'm fine," Jack assured. "It's gonna take more than the blowback from one little bomb to do me in for good." 

"Blowback that rolled the humvee you were driving five times," Mac reminded him. 

"Details," Jack waved him off. "No big deal. I'm sore, and yeah, it might have been close, but I'm gonna be okay and you walked away without a scratch. I'm gonna call that a win."

"I should have been there too," Mac's voice was low as he dropped his gaze to the hands in his lap, twitching at the emptiness there, nothing to keep him occupied. 

"Hey now, no. No, you shouldn't." When Mac didn't look up to meet his gaze, Jack forced himself up on his elbows, wincing at the pain but the movement was enough to draw Mac's attention back to him. 

"Lay down before you hurt yourself worse." 

"You gonna listen to me or do I need to sit all the way up?" Jack asked. He couldn't recall ever having to use his own movement as a threat before, but he hadn't been lying when he told Mac that waking up with someone waiting on him had been a new thing for him. He wasn't sure how to play it out, but he wasn't going to let Mac get away with feeling guilty for not being hurt as well. 

"I," Mac began and Jack sent him a warning glare, raising up another inch. "Fine! I'm listening, I'm listening, just... stop. Before you hurt yourself worse." 

"Thank you," Jack panted, dropping back into the bed with a huff. "Okay, you listen real good to me, Mac. If I can? I'm going to go out of my way to put myself in the line of fire instead of you. Every damn time. That's my job. I keep you safe. Now, this one? This was out of my control. It was luck and only luck that made me drop you off before I drove to what was supposed to be a safer spot down the street. I thought we were in the clear, you did too, and there was nobody to blame except for the guy who planted that bomb there. But if I had been given a choice? I would have done it exactly that way again and let me take the hit instead of you." 

"It wouldn't have just been me though," Mac protested. "We both would have been hurt. And I'm not saying I wish that's how it would have happened, or anything, but that seems fair. More fair than me sitting here perfectly fine while you're laying there in a hospital bed hurting." 

"But if you had gotten hurt too, you wouldn't be allowed to be sitting in that chair staring at me like some kind of creeper," Jack pointed out. "And yeah, it was a little weird, wakin' up and not being by myself, it's kinda nice having you here. I could get used to it." 

"You could get used to me watching you sleep?" Mac's eyebrow climbed back up into his hair again. 

"You weren't watchin' me sleep, you were asleep yourself. If it wouldn't have hurt so much I would have thrown a pillow or something at you," Jack chuckled. "I meant this whole keepin' me company thing. Makes this place suck a little less, having a friend here with me." 

"I'm sure I'm not nearly as good at the whole bedside thing as your dad was." 

Jack smiled. "You got time to learn." 

"You planning on ending up here a lot?" Mac asked. 

"If that's your way of askin' if I come here often, I hate to break it to you hoss, but that pickup line went out of style a long time ago," Jack winked, not about to pass up the perfect opportunity to tease Mac a little more. 

"Shut up," Mac laughed. "I meant-"

"I know what you meant," Jack assured. "And I wish I could tell you no. But the truth is, in our line of work? Yeah, odds are I'm gonna end up back here, or in the infirmary tent at the very least, a time or two more before we ship out. And as much as I hate it and am going to try my best to keep it from happening, so will you. But I'll promise you this much, as long as I'm able? Physically able to do it, not piled up in a room of my own? Or, actually, you know what? Maybe even then. I'll be right there beside you. Just like you were for me today." 

"Yeah?" Mac smiled, thinking that maybe, if Jack was right and it was only inevitable that he would end up hurt before their tour was over, that it wouldn't be as bad as he would have thought before. 

"You got my word, kid. This partner thing? It ain't no joke to me. I'm all in. And you might not realize it, but stickin' around like you did today? I think you're pretty good and invested in it too."

"So it wasn't a bad call then?" Mac asked, settling back in his chair, starting to feel as though he was in the right place by doing so. "Staying here and waiting for you to wake up?" 

"No," Jack grinned. "No, I think you might have just gone and started a real nice tradition, kid. One we'll have to keep goin'." Mac might not have had a father who was willing to sit with him while he was hurt, to help him through the hard times, but he had Jack now. And Jack was more than willing to step up and fill that role for as long as Mac would have him.


	16. A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

"Why?" Jack groaned, stretching an arm behind his head to try and reach the just-unreachable spot low between his shoulder blades. "Why did they have to come after me?" 

"I honestly don't have an answer for that," Mac shrugged, turning to peer down the path though he knew the beehive laying on the ground, and the angry swarm protecting the remains of their home, were long out of sight. "Guess they thought, of the two of us, you were the bigger threat." 

"They weren't wrong, but it was your fault!" Jack exclaimed, giving up on reaching the sting on his back and turning his attention to one he could easily reach on the side of his neck. His face twisted into a grimace as he pulled out the stinger that had been left behind, holding it up between two fingers for Mac to see. 

"Technically, you threw the rock."

"It was your idea, though. I definitely wasn't the one who said “Hey, Jack, I think I have a plan! See that clump of mud up in that tree? That's a beehive! If we time it right when we knock that down, the bees will think the grade-A psychos who are chasing it were the ones who pissed 'em off and we can scamper off on our merry way while they're being stung to death."

"Not my exact words," Mac argued, though that was the general idea of his plan. It had been risky, same as all his plans. "And I'm sorry. But, aside from you getting stung a couple of times, it worked didn't it? Exfil's right over that next hill and we weren't followed."

"Cause they couldn't make it past the clouds of killer bees," Jack grumbled, poking at another red welt on his cheek. "Of all the movies I have ever wanted to live out, you had to go and make The Swarm happen? Seriously? And then those damn bugs didn't even have the decency to attack the guy who wanted to demolish their home!"

Actually, Mac had felt quite guilty about that plan. But if the options were to destroy a local bee colony or get caught by the gun-runners who were chasing them, he would pick the first option every time. "Bees, in general, tend to go after people in darker clothing, it's why bee suits are white," He shrugged, looking down at his own grey t-shirt and over to Jack's black one. "Maybe that was the deciding factor."

"Well I hate it," Jack declared, stopping to lean against a tree, only after quickly checking the branches above him and making sure there were no more hives waiting to attack, scratching at his ankle where one of the bees had apparently managed to work its way into his boot. "This is officially goin' on the list of worst missions, I can tell you that." 

"It's a few bee stings, Jack," Mac rolled his eyes. "I promise, it isn't even on the list of top two hundred, maybe three." 

"It hurts."

Mac didn't have an argument for that. He was sure his partner was pretty miserable, he had counted at least twelve different welts, keeping track every time he snuck a worried glance out of the corner of his eye and those were the ones that weren't hidden beneath clothing. "We'll get you some antihistamines and something for the pain when we get in the air," He promised, hoping the mention of the well-stocked first aid kit and comfy plane seats awaiting them would be enough to quell the worst of the complaining for the final leg of their hike. 

"Or a damn Epi pen," Jack continued muttering, swatting branches out of his way as they kept walking and Mac noted another sting, rising up from between the knuckles of his gun hand. 

Those words made Mac's blood turn to ice despite the tropical heat he was sweltering in only moments earlier. "You aren't allergic to bees," He said, needing Jack's assurance of the fact. He knew it was true, but it didn't ease the panic he could feel forming, rising to the surface, only willing to abate after confirmation that he was right, that Jack was only being his typical, overdramatic self.

"I know," Jack agreed, annoyance and discomfort fueling his frustration with the entire situation and he snapped a branch instead of pushing it out of the way, leaving it hanging, broken from the tree. An uninjured, unhurting Jack would have admonished someone else for the careless act. Hey, now. What'd that tree ever do to you? It ain't it's fault you're havin' a bad day. You don't need to go takin' it out on Mother Nature. "Calm down, I'm fine. It just-" 

"Hurts," Mac finished for him, offering a sympathetic smile. There was an audible sigh from both of them as they crested the final hill and saw the awaiting exfil plane. 

"Go get changed," Mac instructed, tossing Jack's go-bag out of the overhead compartment as soon as they were safely in the air and moved on to finding the medical kit. "Make sure there's no stowaways waiting until you let your guard down to start stinging again." 

Jack returned a few moments later, barefoot with a pair of sweatpants hung low on his hips, idly slapping at the welt on his back with the t-shirt in his hands. 

"Take those," Mac motioned towards the pills and water bottle he had placed on the table beside Jack's usual seat. "And stop scratching." 

"Think the stinger stayed in that one," Jack grumbled, swallowing the pills and dropping into the seat with a huff. "Still burnin'. Can't reach it." 

"Lemme see," Mac instructed, motioning for Jack to lean forward. "Yup, there it is," Mac agreed, wincing right along with Jack as he trapped the offending barb between his fingernails and pulled it free. "Any more?" 

"Yeah, 'bout twenty," Jack groused, shouldering Mac's arm out of the way so he could lean back in the seat. 

"I meant that you couldn't reach to get the stingers out of," Mac corrected with a smile. "Don't get too comfy yet," He tore open the package of an alcohol wipe. "Let me wipe them down first." 

"Think that was the only one I didn't get," Jack hissed out as Mac began cleaning the welts on his back before ripping open a new pack and working at the ones on his neck. Jack let a hand drifting up to absently rub at a welt on his chest while Mac worked. "Pretty sure I got 'em all but that one."

"Want a hand getting that shirt on?" Mac offered, nodding towards the, apparently, forgotten shirt Jack had draped over the armrest closest to him once he had wiped down the bumps that the shirt would cover.

"Nah, I tried. Too itchy." 

"Well, then thanks for suffering through and wearing pants anyway," Mac teased as he moved on to Jack's face and then his arms, finishing up with the one on his ankle which made ninteen stings in total, and began gathering up the trash and packing away the medicine bottles back in the med kit. 

"Didn't get any on my legs. Or anywhere else 'round there, thank God," Jack smirked. "Or I wouldn't be." 

"The one time you wearing those tight jeans paid off." 

"Oh, please," Jack scoffed. "Those jeans pay for themselves the first time I wear them. Have you seen how amazing my ass looks in them?" 

Mac couldn't help but smile. A Jack that was still joking through the pain-though, knowing Jack, he wasn't intending for the question to be a joke- meant that he was going to be okay. "Clearly the bees didn't think so." 

"Naw, they totally did," Jack protested, eyes sparking at the familiar banter. "That's why they didn't get me there. It's too perfect for them to damage." 

"I'm sure that's what it was," Mac laughed, shaking his head as he put the med kit back in it's place and snagged a water bottle for himself out of the fridge on his way back to his seat. "You feeling any better?" 

"Not really," Jack admitted with a sigh, scratching at the welt in the bend of his elbow before Mac swatted his fingers away. "Kinda achy. Tired. Stings are burning somethin' awful. I know it's been a couple years since I've been stung but, damn, I don't remember it bein' this bad."

"They were bees in a different country. Which means you don't have any allergen resistance built up in your body to whatever plants they feed on so while you aren't technically allergic to them, with as many times as you were stung, your body isn't used to it and is almost treating it as if you were," Mac explained. "You're gonna feel pretty awful for a while. Pills I gave you should kick in soon and they'll help. And there have been studies that show that the older a person is the more a bee sting affects them. An adult is more likely to have a worse reaction than a child, even if they were stung by the same bee."

"You just call me old?"

"No?" Mac frowned. 

"Cause once again, those bees should have went after you. 'Specially if it wouldn't have even hurt you." 

"That's... that's nowhere close to what I just said," Mac shook his head in protest. "And I know you call me a kid all the time but I'm well past being an actual kid. If they had stung me I would be just as miserable as you are now. And you're always going on and on about how you hate it when I get hurt. Is that what you want? Me feeling as awful as you do right now?" 

"No," Jack sighed dejectedly. "It just ain't fair. Should'a gone after both of us and then we could be miserable together."

"Tell you what, next time I decide our only way to avoid certain death on a mission is to destroy a colony of bees in the middle of our escape? I'll make sure I get stung too, okay? Just so you don't have to go through this alone again."

"That's all I ask, dude," Jack agreed, shifting in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position to rest for the whole way home. "Just don't make it anytime soon. I'm not looking forward to a repeat of this."


	17. I Didn't See That Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second fic I've written with Jack losing his sight. Which, I'm sure, is two more than he would prefer. Oops.

"Jack?" Mac adjusted the comm in his ear, worrying that it had stopped working after a few too many minutes of silence from his usually over-talkative partner. "Where are you? I'm waiting at the gate." 

"Sorry hoss," Jack's voice broke through finally and Mac breathed a sigh of relief. "Got a little held up. "You know how that third floor was under construction?" 

"Yeah...?" Mac drew the word out in a question, eyes scanning the moonlit courtyard, expecting Jack to come hurtling through any moment. 

"Turns out not all those construction workers we cleared out of the place with the threat of a gas leak earlier today were who they said they were," Jack explained. "There were a couple goons-for-hire snuck in among the mix. And they knew we were lyin', so they hung around. Got the drop on me." 

"Are you hurt?" Riley's voice cut through the comms this time. She was pretty good at staying quiet unless one of them specifically asked for her input, knowing Mac and Jack's partnership worked as well as it did because they could read one another so well and she didn't want to interrupt that flow, especially not when she wasn't even in the field, but tucked away in the safety of the van. 

"Nah, they might have landed a hit or two," Jack replied, choosing his words carefully. "Didn't really know what they were doin' though. I ain't bleeding or anything, don't worry." 

"Okay, where are you?" Mac asked again, not missing the fact that Jack had avoided answering that question the first time he had asked along with deflecting Riley's question about him being hurt. No blood didn't mean he was unharmed. "I'll come meet you." 

"No, now you stick to the plan and get back to the van," Jack instructed. "I'll be there. Just movin' a little slower than I'd prefer. Don't you risk comin' back in here though." 

"Okay, Jack. Seriously, what's wrong?" Mac turned around, peering up at the line of windows on the third floor, hoping to get a glimpse of his partner in one of them. "And don't say nothing." 

"You remember a couple'a years ago," Jack began, and as annoying as it was not to have an honest answer immediately, knowing Jack was well enough to slip into one of his long-winded stories as an explanation was relieving. "When you were complainin' that Bozer's electric can opener was too slow?" 

"Jack, is there a point to this story?" Riley asked, clearly not taking as much comfort in the familiar ramble as Mac was. 

"Yup. Mac, you with me?" 

"Yeah," He couldn't entirely mask his grin. "Yeah, I remember. That thing was taking forever and I had taken apart the manual one we had to fix the doorbell a couple of weeks before. Forgot to pick up another." 

"So you worked your magic on it," Jack continued. "And that thing was wicked fast for a few seconds, doin' a great job, until it went a little too fast and slung the can clean off the track. Knocked a big ol' hole in the wall when that can went flyin'." 

"Unless you're saying these guys hit you with a can of soup," Mac laughed, not willing to rule that out as a possibility just yet. "I'm not seeing the correlation here." 

"Remember how we had to patch that hole up? Before Bozer got back?" 

"Um, sure," Mac nodded slowly. In all honesty, the impromptu trip to the hardware store to buy a can of paint and some plaster hadn't been nearly as eventful as trying to improve the can opener. 

"And that guy at the store was real nice and hooked us up with a bag of that sandy powder stuff you mix in with the spackle? To get the texture right?" 

"Yeah, actually, I do." Once prompted, Mac had a vivid memory of complaining that Jack had bought what was essentially a bag of dirt and sand when there were much more cost-effective ways to obtain that. Emptying the vacuum cleaner he never used as much as he probably should and checking the lining of his board shorts, had come to mind. "I think what's left of it is still in the garage somewhere. But seriously, what does this have to do with why you aren't down here? Do we need to postpone exfil because you can't make it down a couple flights of stairs?" 

"Couple flights of stairs in a three-piece suit," Jack grumbled, and while their comms system was designed not to pick up too much background noise, there was a clatter from Jack's end as he, presumably, bumped into something. "Not blowin' my cover with the stupid fancy party happenin' on the last two floors." 

"Jack. Last chance or I'm coming up," Mac warned, ducking into the shadow of a hedge sculpture as a couple made their way through the garden and out of the gate he was hiding beside. 

"That plaster dust stuff?" Jack continued, finally. "Yeah, well they were usin' it here too. In the rooms they were renovating. I'd check and see if it's the same brand we had but I can't really see at the moment. It's kinda... all up in my eyes." 

"Seriously?" Riley exclaimed. "You couldn't have lead with that?" 

"Okay," Mac spoke over her. "You're sure that's what it was?" 

"Pretty sure," Jack confirmed. "Looked like the same stuff, what I could see of the bag before they threw it at me. Can't really tell at the moment."

"You can't see anything?" 

"No. Burnin', hazy white film over both eyes," Jack sighed. "This is bad, ain't it?" 

"It's not good," Mac agreed. "Not only are you going to be walking out of there blind, but if they threw enough to damage your vision it's all over your suit, too. There's no way you're walking out of there unnoticed." 

"Which is why I've been hangin' out here," Jack explained. "Trying to come up with a plan. But it's a little difficult to do when I can't see what I've got around me to work with." 

"Okay, forget getting out of there for a minute," Riley spoke up. "I'm a little more concerned with the plaster dust he's got in his eyes. You've got to find somewhere to rinse that off, Jack. Like, yesterday." 

"There's no running water on that floor," Mac answered for him. "He's got to get out of there. Now. Jack, the guys who did this, where are they right now?" 

"Knocked out and pinned beneath a couple hundred pounds of scaffolding. "They ain't goin' anywhere, even after they wake up." 

"Mac, go in after him," Riley insisted. She hadn't yet mastered the trick of not letting her worry seep into her voice. 

"Mac, don't you dare go past that gate," Jack argued. "You were already seen going out the door, it'll only raise suspicions if you go back in. Not to mention you'll have to go through security again and you've got the drive we were sent in to steal in your pocket. Or at least I hope you've got it. Cause if I did all this for nothing I'm not gonna be happy." 

"I've got it," Mac assured, patting the inside pocket of his suit jacket, just to be sure. "There was a back way in and out but I don't remember the schematics of it."

"I'll figure it out," Jack said, though he didn't sound all that confident in his ability to do it. "Get back to the van." 

"Okay," Mac nodded, sparing one last look up at the windows of the floor Jack was trapped on. "I'm heading back right now, Riley have me blueprints of the building ready. I'm going to be your eyes, okay Jack? We're getting you out of there." 

"Yeah," Jack sighed in relief, loving the double promise of an escape plan and a safe partner. "Yeah, that'd be great, hoss. This kinda hurts." 

"Don't touch it," Mac instructed as he jogged his way through the seemingly endless maze of sculptures and fountains blocking his straight shot path to the back of the property where Riley had parked their van. "You'll just rub it in worse and there will be a higher chance of the particles scratching." 

"I hear ya, I hear ya," Jack assured, though he didn't sound too happy with the latest orders. "Don't stop it from burning though." 

"We've got a case of water in here waiting for you," Riley promised, glancing over her shoulder, away from the blueprints loading on the screen, to the case of water bottles stashed away under one of the desk tops. "You just have to make it to us." 

"I see the van," Mac announced as he rounded the final corner. "Ri, how's those blueprints coming?" 

"Ready," She confirmed, eyes scanning the building's outlines. "There is a back exit, looks connected to an old stairwell. I'm guessing it was the servant's quarters back in the day. It should bypass most of the party, or at least the guests, looks like it connects to the kitchen though." 

"That's alright, catering companies get paid extra just to pretend they don't see the crazy things that go on at places like this," Mac said as he finally unlatched the back door to the van and climbed inside, grabbing one of the stools tucked away beneath the rows of monitors and equipment and pulling it up to sit alongside Riley. "Even if they notice him, they won't say anything. That's our best way out. Jack? You with us?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm here." 

"How you feelin'?" 

"Well, I can't see," He huffed a laugh that sounded forced even through the tinny crackle of the comm reception. "So a little more vulnerable than I'd prefer. And my eyes are burnin' somethin' awful, but other than that I'm just great." 

"You ready to move?" Mac asked. "Cause we're gonna have to do this kinda fast if we want to get you out of there without drawing any more attention than we have to." 

"I'm ready when you are, hoss," Jack agreed, and Mac could hear the determination steeling his voice. "Point me in the right direction." 

"You remember what room you're in?" 

"Left. Third door down, I think?" He paused. "Though I'm startin' to realize that the difference between me being wrong and it actually being the second is the only thing that's gonna keep me from takin' a tumble down that set of stairs you're leadin' me to." 

"No, you're fine," Mac assured, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. "One step at a time. Literally. Can you make it to the door? Out into the hallway?" 

"Yeah," There were a few silent moments, long enough for Riley and Mac to share a worried look, before a loud clang echoed throughout their earpieces, causing them both to wince. "Might go a little easier if I don't knock over any more paint cans on the way, though." 

"You okay?" 

"Sure, I'm fine," Jack grumbled, the clanging got significantly quieter but kept going. Apparently, he had given up hope on making it through the maze of construction equipment quietly and decided the best approach was to barrel through. "The plaster dust all over my face isn't enough of a red flag, so I decided to go and paint my entire left pants leg blue. No big deal. ‘Least I think it was blue paint they were usin’. Can’t really check." 

"Just keep going," Mac grinned. "You always hated that suit anyway." 

"Okay," Jack dropped his voice low. "Okay, I'm at the door. I hang a right, right?" 

"You don't hear anyone else up there with you?" 

"Naw, it's just me. Fumblin' around up here by my lonesome." 

"How's the eyes?" Mac asked. It was driving him crazy that he wasn't there helping in person. 

"They're still in there, far as I can tell," Jack tried for a joke, knowing it would fall flat before it had even passed his lips. 

"That's not funny, Jack." Riley admonished with a shake of her head. Since she had started the job at Phoenix her least favorite part, hands down, had been watching her guys get hurt. It wasn't any easier when all she was left with was the sound instead of the visual. 

"I ain't laughin', sweetheart," Jack sighed. "But I'll be alright. Lead me on outta here." 

"To you're right," Mac confirmed, answering Jack's earlier question. "If there's nothing in your way, stay close to the wall. Maybe even a hand on it to help keep count of how many doors you pass." 

"One step ahead of you, kid," Jack answered as he made his way down the hall. "How far I gotta go to get me to this top-secret stairwell?" 

"It's not exactly a secret," Mac smiled. "Keep going. Still a ways to go. Eight doors and then the hallway splits. You'll have to go across to the other side and turn to your left. It's at the end of that wing. Ten... no, eleven doors once you make it there." 

"Damn mansions," Jack complained under his breath. 

"Since you've got a pretty long walk ahead you have time to tell us how you're feeling," Mac prompted, not willing to let Jack talk his way around avoiding the question this time. "How bad's it hurting still?" 

"It burns," He admitted. "All gritty. Keep wantin' to try and wipe it out." 

"Don't." Mac and Riley said in tandem. 

"Said I wanted to, not that I was gonna," Jack muttered. "Okay, Mac. Either I reached the end of this part or the whole damn building's about to drop off in front of me."

"Let's hope it's the first option." Mac smiled. "Straight across to your left then find the nearest wall and do it all over again. Eleven doors and then the one on the wall in front of you instead of to your side should lead to the stairs." 

The next few moments passed in tense silence. Mac was all for not distracting Jack, but his partner wasn't the only one completing the final leg of their latest mission blind. It was driving him crazy not being able to see how things were going, almost as much as it was bothering him knowing the level of pain and anxiousness Jack was trying to ignore and not being there to help get him through it. "You got pretty quiet on us," He prompted. "How's it going?" 

"Sorry," Jack's voice was tense, tight with hurt. "Keepin' count. Almost there." 

"Take your time," Riley said gently. "Be careful." 

"Every minute I waste bein' careful is another minute I have to keep this damn stuff in my eyes," Jack reminded them. "And I'm not tryin' to scare y'all or anything? But it hurts. Bad. Think it's getting worse." 

"How far have you made it?" Mac asked, knowing there was nothing he could do to help with the pain yet. "Almost there?" 

"Should just have one more left to go?" Jack said, not sounding entirely sure about the number. "I'm close." 

There was the sound of something colliding close to Jack's earpiece and a slew of yelped curse words as Jack regained his balance. "Scratch that," He corrected. "I'm here." 

"You're sure?" 

"Unless my face just connected with some other wall?" He snarled, pain overriding the normally gentle tone he took with his kids. "Yeah, I'm sure." 

"Okay," Mac nodded. "There's a door somewhere along that wall. Only one, but I'm not sure exactly where it is. The blueprints don't show it, just that it connects to the stairs there." 

Jack paced up and down the length of the wall twice in each direction, hand trailing across the smooth surface. "There's nothing here, Mac." 

"There has to be," He frowned, leaning closer to the computer screen. "That's the only place it could connect on that floor." 

"Well, I ain't seein' it!" Jack exclaimed, throwing up his hands in frustration. "And not just cause I can't see anything, either. It ain't here." 

"Try along the floor," Riley suggested. "A house this fancy, they wouldn't have wanted the doorway the servants used in plain sight. Maybe there's a hidden latch that will open it?" 

"Worth a shot," Jack grumbled as he began feeling along the elaborately engraved trim at the base of the wall. One of the carved flowers gave beneath his hand and there was a slight hiss of air as the doorway opened. "Okay, yeah. Found it. Don't know exactly where, but it's there." 

"Go slow," Mac warned again. "I think you've been through enough today without adding taking a tumble down three flights of stairs to the list." 

"Aw, damn it," Jack complained as he inched his way back across the wall, arm outstretched. "I've gotta go down all those stairs like this too. Have I mentioned that I hate this?"

"You got this," Mac encouraged. "I can't tell exactly, but I think there are about twelve steps between each floor. And it looks like a really narrow column of stairs, so expect a landing and a quarter turn every six steps or so." 

"Alright," Jack took a breath, psyching himself up for the next challenge. "Here goes." 

It was slower than he usually took steps, he was pretty sure he had descended the ones to his apartment on crutches in less time than he managed to tackle the current set, but he made it. "Last set," He announced. Any clue where this is gonna lead me?" 

"Kitchen," Mac answered, climbing over Riley and the various bags of gear she had piled on the floor to reach the driver's seat. "Some part of it, at least. I'm gonna pull the van up to the back gate, Riley's your eyes for a little while, okay?" 

"Yeah, okay," Jack agreed. "There's a door." 

"Go on," She prompted, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the hum of the engine as Mac started it. "Be careful." 

"I'm out. Different room. Brighter," Jack said and Mac let out a relieved breath he hadn't realized he was holding at the news of Jack being able to see some form of light variation. "But it's too small to be a kitchen. I can practically reach from one wall to the next." 

"You're in the butler's pantry," Mac ran a hand through his hair, steering one-handed as he weaved the clunky van through the rows of luxury cars and chauffeured limousines, happy to finally have a visual memory of the house to guide his partner through instead of a hundred-year-old blueprint. "Just walk. There's a swinging door that leads into the kitchen and a door in there that leads outside." 

"And you expect me to make it through that garden without bein' able to see?" Jack asked as the background of the comms went from silence to the bustling of a busy kitchen. 

"No, I'll meet you that far," Mac promised, slamming the van into park and hopping out the door, leaving it running. "On my way now." He kept going before Jack had a chance to protest. "You told me not to go back in the house, not that I wasn't allowed back in the garden." 

Rather than trying to find his way through the kitchen without further injuring himself, Jack threw his laying low plan out the window and asked the nearest person how to get to the door. They were more than happy to direct him, hand on his elbow to make sure he didn't mess up any of the food that was being prepared, to it. "Alright, I'm outside." 

"I see you," Mac called and Jack's head turned automatically, hearing Mac's voice in real-time instead of through the comms for the first time in far too long. 

"Wish I could say the same," Jack joked, reaching out a hand as Mac approached. "Think we can get this taken care of now?" 

"That looks bad, Jack," Mac winced in sympathy when he got his first close-up view of his partner's eyes. He placed a careful hand on Jack's shoulder, trying not to take the slight flinch at the touch too personally. "Just a little longer. Hang on to me and we'll get you back to the van." 

"Thanks, kid," Jack sighed, allowing himself to relax despite the pain, latching a hand on to Mac's sleeve. 

"That's what partners do," Mac smiled, leading his partner to safety.


	18. Panic! At The Disco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this would technically, I think, make sense on its own, all of Jack’s phobias and backstory regarding this fear came from impossiblepluto’s amazing fic Phobias and I highly recommend you head over to it right now to read because it’s phenomenal. 
> 
>   
> Lucas and George built the sandbox, she brought the toys, and I'm just playing with them.

“Nope,” Jack shook his head, arms crossed and defiant. “Changed my mind. I ain’t doin’ it.”

“You don’t really have a say in the matter,” Mac rolled his eyes, shifting in the waiting room chair, just a little so that his body was angled more in front of the door. He didn’t expect Jack to make a run for it, not really, but he was going to be ready just in case. “It’s not like you’re here on your own free will.”

“Exactly!” Jack exclaimed as if Mac had agreed with him. “This wasn’t my choice, I shouldn’t have to do it!”

“You have to if you want to pass your physical and be cleared for field work,” Mac shrugged. “But it’s your call.”

“This is stupid though,” Jack whined, dropping his head against the wall behind him with a thunk that caught the attention of the scrub-clad receptionist behind the front desk. “You don’t have to do it.”

“Because I didn’t have a severe allergic reaction on our last op,” Mac reminded him. “You did. Which means we need to figure out what triggered it before we can go out again.”

“I don’t think it was an actual allergy though,” Jack protested, thinking back to the mission that had landed him a rush appointment at the closest allergy center. “Just a cold or somethin’.”

“With no symptoms other than you continually sneezing and nearly blowing our cover? Four times?” Mac raised a single eyebrow towards his partner. “You’re gonna have to come up with a better story than that if you want to talk your way out of this.”

“You think there’s a chance I can?”

“No,” Mac shook his head. “I think you’re going to keep complaining, right up until the moment the test actually starts, and probably through at least the first part of it, if we’re being honest,” Mac answered. “But it’s happening so you might as well face it and get it over with.”

“Why’s it gotta be needles though?” Jack’s’ knee was bouncing, the heel of his boot tapping a rhythm against the floor that revealed he was actually nervous, not just trying to get a rise out of anyone.

“I know, buddy,” Mac agreed sympathetically. “I know you hate them. And this is… not gonna be fun. If there was another way, we’d do it. But there isn’t. And come on, this is nothing. You got this. Been through way worse.”

“Still don’t like it.”

“Well, looks like you’re out of time to complain about it,” Mac nodded towards the door swinging open, a nurse with a clipboard offering an easy smile and a wave to follow her. "Think it’s your turn.”

“You think she’s meanin’ me?” Jack asked, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and making a show of turning to look over his shoulder though he knew good and well he was sitting against the wall and they were the only ones in the waiting room.

“I think there’s a pretty good chance, yeah,” Mac grinned, standing up and waiting for Jack to do the same. “Might as well quit stalling. Get it over with.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Jack grumbled as he heaved himself out of the chair with a dramatic sigh and followed the nurse down the brightly lit hallway. “You’re not the one about to be stabbed by a million needles.”

“Not quite a million,” She spoke up, sending Mac a sympathetic glance. The staff at the allergist office had been briefed, at least as much as they could be, of the situation. They knew they were dealing with a veteran with PTSD but couldn’t know, without disclosing the presence of the entire Phoenix Foundation, that he was still active duty. And sending a specialist team in to perform the tests from within the familiar walls of Phoenix Med was out of the question for the same reasons. The need for an allergist didn’t come up often enough for Phoenix to keep one on staff, choosing instead to hunt out the best in their field, as they did with other medical specialists, and send their agents there on a need to know basis, disclosing no more information than absolutely necessary.

“See?” Mac teased, keeping himself between Jack and the exit once more. “Not quite a million. That’s promising, right?”

“Ain’t funny, kid.”

“I’m not laughing, big guy.”

“I’m going to go get everything started,” the nurse smiled, sensing more apprehension in the room than she had even expected. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable,” She nodded towards the paper-covered exam bed. “Shirt off, on your belly. The sooner we get things rolling the sooner you can get out of here.”

Jack closed his eyes and dropped his head back, face turned towards the ceiling as she left the room, the door closing with a soft click. He nearly flinched at the sound. “I’m not okay with this, Mac. Any part of this. Feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin and they haven’t even started pokin’ holes in me yet.”

“Hey, I know you’re kinda freaking right now,” Mac stepped forward, risking invading personal space to drop a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “But this place is totally safe. As safe as it can be, at least. You cleared it yourself, remember?”

“I know that, but-”

“And I’m here,” Mac continued, pushing past Jack’s attempted protest. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“ ‘Cept for lettin’ ‘em stab me a couple thousand times.”

Ignoring the very slight progress that he noted at the projected number of sticks dropping from a million down to thousands, Mac kept going. “It’s my turn to watch your back, okay? I know this is kinda a touchy subject for you, I know how much you’re hating this, and that was without factoring in the vulnerability aspect, but I really don’t think it’s going to be as bad as you’re expecting. You’re just stuck in your head over it.”

Jack dropped onto the bed, elbows propped up on his knees as the fight began to drain out of him and leave him deflated. “They do this to kids. Kids, Mac. And not kids your age neither, actual little kids. And I’m here losing my you-know-what over it.”

“They do,” Mac agreed. “All the time. But none of those kids have the impressively traumatic history with needles you do. You’re allowed to be rattled by this. Nobody’s telling you not to be.”

“But I gotta push past it,” Jack decided, though it sounded as if he was still trying to convince himself that he believed what he was saying. “Can’t keep working if I don’t. Can’t keep you safe.”

“We’re not prioritizing me at the moment,” Mac smiled, knowing that even if he said it, he would never fall to even second place in the ranking of important things Jack focused on. “But yeah, we have to figure out what sent you into that sneezing fit before it’s safe for us to go back in the field. Our jobs are risky enough without leaving an unknown variable in play that could be used against us. Not to mention it makes you miserable.”

“It passed pretty quick,” Jack reminded him, still not entirely convinced he couldn’t get Mac on his side. “Once we got back on the plane.”

“Which is why they’re testing you for any possible triggers that you would have come into contact with where we were at.”

Jack nodded slowly, staring down at his hands, clasped so he wouldn’t have to admit to himself that they were trembling. “I don’t gotta like it. I just gotta do it.”

“If that’s how you need to think to get through this?” Mac shrugged. “Sure. That’s how we’ll look at it.”

“I still hate this whole thing,” Jack announced, reaching up and pulling his shirt over his head with one hand, wadding it into a ball and throwing it at Mac.

“We don’t really do what we do and expect a fan club,” a new voice interrupted as the allergist pushed the door open, clearly hearing Jack’s last declaration. “Hopefully we’ll get you out of here without you hating us too much.”

“How many of y’all is this gonna take?” Jack frowned as the same nurse from earlier followed, bringing the total of people in the already small room up to four. 

“Two of us, twice as fast,” The first one explained with a smile. “It goes a lot quicker if we each take a side.”

“I’ve still got my feet firmly planted on the side of not likin’ this,” Jack groused, unable to keep himself from scanning the small room, searching for any exits other than the one Mac was guarding. He didn’t intend to actually make an escape, he just liked knowing his options. “But since it’s happenin’ if I like it or not, we might as well get on with it.”

“Lay down for me, we’ll get started,” She instructed, and they were almost in the clear, but the nurse stepped forward, tugging a metal rolling tray further into the room, and Jack caught sight of the pile of hypodermics lined up and waiting as he turned and bolted upright, any remaining trace of color draining from his face as his eyes locked on the needles.

“Jack,” Mac’s voice was a warning as much as it was a soothing port in a storm. “You’re fine.”

“That’s-” Everyone in the room could hear the nervous swallow as Jack tried to remember how to make his voice work. “That’s a lot.”

A quick look from Mac and both women stepped back, not quite out of the room, but out of Jack’s direct line of sight as Mac stepped forward. When one, Mac didn’t bother turning to see which one, moved to pull the cart back out of Jack’s view though, Mac stopped her with a raised hand and a barely-there shake of his head. Hiding it, after Jack already had the image seared into his mind, was the last thing Jack would find helpful, even with the best of intentions behind the move.

“Hey,” Mac ducked his head, making sure his partner could see him. “You’re okay, remember? I’m right here. We’re safe.”

“That looks pretty far from safe,” Jack tried to meet Mac’s gaze but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from what his memories were screaming at him were a threat for longer than a second before he had to look back. “I don’t… I don’t think I can do this, Mac.”

Mac had hoped it wouldn’t reach that point, but he had known it was a possibility and already had a plan in place, always two steps ahead of the game, just in case. “One step at a time, okay? Don’t think of the whole thing, you’ll psych yourself out. Take it one step at a time. First hurdle is laying down. Think you can manage that for me?”

“Mac, I...” Jack was ready to call the whole thing off, but he owed it to Mac to at least look him in the eye and tell him that he was too much of a coward to go through with it. When he did it though, finally pulled his focus away from the tray of torture devices to look, really look, at his partner, he didn’t have the heart to not at least try to do what he was asking. “Yeah, yeah okay.”

It was a measure of trust that wasn’t lost on Mac, that Jack was willing to push through the nearly paralyzing fear and lay himself down, vulnerable, with his back to the source of all the present anxiety. “There we go,” Mac smiled. “That wasn’t so bad was it?”

“Can we just do this?” The tension radiating through Jack, thrumming like a live wire, leaked out through his voice. “Please? You got me this far, do it and get it over with.”

“They’re not gonna do anything without telling you first,” Mac promised, meeting both waiting sets of eyes and making sure they understood and agreed before continuing. “Nobody’s sneaking up on you, nothing’s being done without you knowing it.”

Jack nodded, a quick dip of his head, pillowed on arms that were rigid with stress.

“Going to get everything sterilized. This’ll be cold,” The nurse warned, giving Jack plenty of time to protest and checking in with a quick glance Mac’s way before proceeding to wipe Jack’s back down.

He didn’t flinch, but Mac couldn’t help but wonder if he was simply too tense to.

“Marker’s next,” She said, holding up the purple marker, waiting until Jack pried open eyes, dark with fear, to see that the only threat in her hand and heading his way, was the harmless pen. “We’ve each got one,” She continued, nodding towards her colleague. “So it will go faster. Just like we’re gonna do with the shots here whenever you’re ready. Make some nice little rows of dots, so we can keep track of each exposure site. That okay?”

He did flinch at the first poke of the marker, proving Mac’s earlier hypothesis incorrect. The two of them working in tandem, a perfectly synchronized team not unlike Mac and Jack themselves, and before either of them were really ready for it, they were done and the easy part of the process was over. 

"We're ready to start whenever you are," The allergist announced, meeting Mac's gaze again. "No rush. But once we start I'm going to need you to stay still. You can't move during this, it will contaminate the results if the samples shift and run together, and then we will have to start over from the beginning another time." 

"That ain't happenin'" Jack shook his head, voice tense. "You're lucky you got me here once. Get on with it."

"You can't move," Mac repeated. "Even once it's over, you have to stay still for, what is it, twenty-five minutes?" He looked over at the nurse who nodded in confirmation. "To get an accurate reading. So if you're not ready..." 

"Said I was, didn't I?" 

"I think this is as okay as he's going to get with this," Mac decided with a sigh. “Let’s go for it.”

He stepped even closer and Jack’s hand snapped out, his fist clenching tight around the hem of Mac’s flannel shirt. There wasn’t much Mac could do to help, not without getting in the way of the test, not that Jack was one to rely on touchstones and provided comfort to get through a stressful or painful situation. Usually. He did let a hand come to rest against the back of Jack’s neck, thumb settling just behind his ear though. The metal chain around his neck was cold, chilled by nervous sweat. 

"Don't let me move," Jack whispered, somehow managing to twist his fingers even tighter into the fabric of Mac's shirt.

"I won't," Mac promised, though he wasn't entirely sure how he was going to uphold his end of the deal if it came down to a show of strength. He could hold his own but didn't stand a chance against Jack if he were to come up off the table panicked and scared, desperate to protect himself and break free. "You'll be fine." 

Their saving grace, Mac decided as the test began, was that the tag-team of the allergist and her nurse were well-practiced. They moved as one, each taking one side and moving quickly and efficiently, so fast that Jack didn't have time to distinguish one poke from the next. It was far from the intentionally slow, drawn-out torture he had been expecting, which combined with the fact that the needles that were being used were tiny and were barely breaching the surface of his skin, meant the entire process wasn't as terrible as either one of them thought it was going to be. Mac was sure that to Jack, it felt as if it had lasted forever, but the entire process from start to finish was over in the span of ten minutes. 

He waited until the last needle had been capped and disposed of, out of sight in the sharps container, before taking the risk of talking. Jack had pulled out every last ounce of self-restraint he had to tough it out through the test without moving and Mac was almost worried that the sound of his voice would break that spell, but the tension throughout his partner's body, the fine tremors he could feel coursing through the muscles beneath his hand, were enough to prompt him into at least announcing that the worst of it was over. "Hey," Mac made sure to keep his voice low, not wanting to startle him. "They're done, buddy. That's the last of it." 

"Yeah?" There was an underlying trace of hope in the single word, though Jack wasn't sure if he was willing to let himself believe it was over just yet and he repressed a shudder. "Don't screw around with me, kid." 

“I wouldn’t,” Mac ran a soothing hand up and down the arm closest to him. “Not about this. It’s over. Now we just get to hang out here for a little while. No big deal.”

“No more needles?”

“No more needles,” Mac promised.

Jack didn’t relax, as Mac had hoped, the muscles beneath his hands stayed so tight they were quivering, but he forced himself to let out a shaky breath, blown out through pursed lips.

“No moving,” The allergist reminded them softly, speaking more to Mac than she was to Jack, knowing only one of them was really capable of paying attention to what she was saying at the moment. “But we’ll get out of here and give you two some space. I’ll be back in a little while to get the results. Hopefully, we’ll be able to figure out what caused that sneezing spell before you get out of here and you won’t have to see us ever again.”

Mac nodded his thanks, dropping a resisting hand to Jack’s shoulder as the nurse began rolling the card out of the room. The sound was still enough to cause Jack to jolt. “Easy. You’re okay.”

He relaxed, just slightly, once they were alone. Stiffly, he turned his head, dislodging Mac’s hand from the back of his neck, as he pried his eyes open and squinted up at Mac through the harsh bright light. “I hate this.”

“I know you do,” Mac offered a sympathetic smile. “But the worst of it really is over.”

“Least they could do is turn this sorry excuse for a bed around,” Jack grumbled, shifting tense muscles, trying to get comfortable. “So my back’s not facin’ the door. Too easy for someone to come sneaking up on us.”

“Pretty sure that’s not something civilians have to worry about,” Mac pointed out. “You’re supposed to be staying still, remember?”

“Tryin’. This bed’s hell on my back.”

“Today in general has been hell on your back,” Mac said, looking at the rows of dots and the tiny red marks left by the needles. “But if you don’t stop squirming you’re going to mess with the results and we’ll have to do this all over again.”

“Staying still,” Jack declared, pushing past the ache forming in his lower back, the threat of having to relive the torture he had just endured enough to make him push through the discomfort and stop moving. “Not doin’ that again.”

“I know it sucked, but you got through it.”

“I don’t know how. Man, that… you don’t know how close I came to comin’ up off this table swingin’.”

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

“I don’t know about all that,” Jack shook his head before burying his face back into the safe darkness of his arms. “Not feelin’ all that tough at the moment.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mac shrugged. “You can be as freaked out about it as anyone’s ever been. But you pushed through it and did what you had to do and made it through to the other side. Seems pretty tough to me.”

“Couldn’t have done it if you weren’t here.”

“Yeah,” Mac let his hand fall back to Jack’s neck, thumb sweeping over the tight muscles there, trying to ease away the tension. “I bet you could have. But we won’t have to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the opening of Bear Trap+Mob Boss there is a very very brief mention of Jack being allergic to oak, so that’s officially canon and partially to blame for all of this.


	19. Broken Heart

"You know, you really should be refueling with something better than... whatever those are," Mac said, watching Jack drain the last of the sugary beverage before tossing the empty can towards the trash can in the corner. It bounced off the table next to it first and then clanged against the rim before finally falling in. Neither of them mentioned the slight fault in Jack's usually perfect aim.

"I'll be fine until we get home," Jack argued, settling back in the uncomfortable waiting room chair and crossing his legs at the ankles. "You owe me a steak, remember? I ain't forgettin'. I earned it, and you're buying."

"You did," Mac agreed. "But it'll be a while. I'm expecting Medical to want to keep you for a few days. Overnight, at least." 

"What for?" Jack turned to him, biting back a hiss when he bumped his elbow against the armrest between their chairs and it sent a shock of pain through the bruises beneath the bandages where Mac's improvised needle had been duct-taped in place. "They said they were done with me. We're just waitin' around her to make sure Leon pulls through the surgery. I'm not even in a room, they got what they needed and kicked me out here to wait with you. I'm fine."

"Yeah, for their purposes, you're done. But Jack, this was risky. Even for us."

"This was your idea."

"I know, it was," Mac hung his head. It really hadn't been an ideal plan and now that Jack's part in it was over and he wasn't running on that adrenaline-fueled high, there was even more room in his mind for the guilt to set in. "And you came through for us, just like you always do. Despite the fact that you weren't really okay with what I was asking you to do. And you'd had a pretty rough start to the day to begin with."

"I'm gonna stop you there, before this turns into a full apology," Jack sat forward, elbows on his knees. "Cause none of this was your fault. We did our jobs, the both of us. You work with what you have around you to save the world, I back your play and try to keep everyone alive. This time one of the things you had to utilize was me." He shrugged. "No big deal. But I don't see how that's landin' me a hospital stay once we get back stateside."

"How are you feeling?" Mac changed tactics. "Honestly."

"Tired," Jack admitted, knowing better than to say there was nothing wrong. "A little fuzzy. Kinda shaky, at the risk of being honest with you even though it's probably gonna make you freak out worse. I might be draggin' my feet a little on the way there, but I can go home, Mac."

"It wasn't just his heart," Mac shook his head, wide blue eyes looking up to meet Jack's brown. "That this was dangerous for. I could have... If I had screwed this up? Didn't get you here in time or done something wrong... Jack this could have been really bad."

"Could'a, should'a, would'a," Jack smiled. "What's important is that you didn't. I'm good, hoss. Just need to sleep it off."

"Right," Mac nodded. "In a hospital bed. Hooked up to heart monitors making sure you really are as okay as you say you are. With a team of doctors and nurses who know your medical history watching you. And when they say you can go home, then we'll head home. With takeout from wherever you want. But not before. I'm not messing around with this, Jack. It's your heart." 

"Exactly. It's mine. Which means I should get to make the call here. And it's a heart that can handle beating for two for a little while." Jack argued. He was tired. Drained, mentally and physically, and the last thing he wanted was to make it home and head straight for another hospital. "Doctor Rosa checked me over. Said I was good to go."

"But she doesn't know, Jack. She doesn't know how many close calls, how much stress, how many times that heart of yours has almost given out on you. Hell, how many times have you been electrocuted this past year alone?"

"A couple," Jack admitted, seeing where Mac was going with his side of the argument and not seeing a way to out-talk him. "But-"

"No," Mac shook his head, voice edging on the verge of panic. "It's your heart. You give, and you give and you put everyone else first, and you push your own worries and hurts aside to take care of everyone but you, even when you need it. You lost your dad's tags this morning, Jack. And we could have stayed home, searched local pawn shops, and maybe even found them. But when the phone rang, you went. Without giving it a second thought."

"Mac-" Jack tried to break through but Mac kept going.

"And one of these days, that big heart of yours is going to give just a little too much. And I can't be the one responsible for that. I can't. But I didn't even stop to think, I just… I don't know. I had a plan. And expected you to help me see it through without thinking about what that would do to you." He stopped, pulling in a shaky breath and running a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up wildly. "I can't lose you. And if-if something had gone wrong? And it was my fault? I'd never forgive myself."

"Okay, hey now," Jack reached out a hand, steady on Mac's shoulder. "You ain't gonna lose me, bud. I'm right here."

"I could've-"

"Nope. We're not gonna think like that. I'm fine, you're fine, and hopefully Leon's fine. I'm callin' that a win all the way around. But even if I wasn't? If something had gone south on us? That wouldn't be on you, Mac. I could have said no. I could have refused and told you to find another way. But I didn't. Because I trust you. Always. You ain't let me down yet, I don't see any reason you would start now."

"You're sure you feel okay?" Mac's voice was low as he slumped in his seat.

"I told you earlier that I was, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but I got the feeling you were leaving a lot out."

Jack hesitated, not wanting to add anything else for Mac to worry over. But he knew hiding anything would be just as bad. "We can go ahead and add a pounding headache and maybe a little dizziness to that list," he admitted with a sigh. "But honestly, dude, I think I'm just tired. Ticker feels fine."

"Jack…" Mac drew his name out into a warning groan.

"But," Jack continued, holding up a hand. "If it'll make you feel better about this whole thing… I guess I can get checked out when we make it home."

"Without complaint?"

"I ain't agreein' to that now, let's not get too crazy here." Jack smiled. 

"But you'll go?" 

"I'll go," Jack promised. "And, I guess, I'll stay as long as they want me to stay. But I'm only doin' it to prove to you that I'm right and you're overreactin' about this whole thing." 

Mac grinned, relieved. "I don't care why you're agreeing to stay, as long as you stay." 

"If I didn't know any better," Jack's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I'd wonder if that whole freak-out just now was all part of a long-con to get me to do what you wanted." 

"It wasn't," Mac assured with a laugh. "But you've already agreed to it, so there's no going back on your word now. This one could have been really bad, Jack. I need to know you're okay." 

Jack nodded slowly, thinking, trying to come up with a way to convince Mac that he really was going to be fine. "Hey," He said suddenly, eyes sparking with an idea. "C'mere." He gently lifted his arm and wrapped it around Mac's shoulders, pulling the younger man closer until Mac’s head came to rest against his chest. 

"What are you-" Mac was confused for a moment until he heard the steady thump of Jack's heartbeat beneath his ear. 

"That sound broken to you?" 

"No," Mac admitted, slightly embarrassed at how comforting the simple sound was. "But you know that isn't really an actual indicator that you're fine, right?" 

"I don't know," Jack teased. "Seems to have calmed you down pretty good." 

"It's a start," Mac admitted, sitting back up. "But you're still not getting out of a trip to Phoenix Med when we get home." 

"Yeah, yeah, I know" Jack smiled, leaving his arm slung around Mac's shoulders. If that was what it took to convince his partner that he was going to be alright, he would stay as long as it took.


	20. Toto, I Have A Feeling We're Not In Kansas Anymore

"Why's it s-so cold in here?" Jack complained, pulling his coat even tighter around his chest and tucking his hands beneath his arms, giving up on getting them warm by holding them in front of the car's air vents.

"Probably because the temperature outside is hovering somewhere well below zero," Mac answered, taking one hand off the wheel to reach out and make sure he had cranked the heat as high as it would go. "And you decided to go swimming."

"Wasn't like it was my choice, hoss," Jack grumbled, tempted to reach out and smack at Mac's hands until he put them both back on the wheel. "I still say you cracked the ice and it was your fault I fell through. You watchin' where were going? Cause these roads are slick."

"One leg fell through," Mac corrected. "And I know how to drive in the snow."

"Fine," Jack conceded, looking down at his soaked pant leg. "You cracked the ice and one leg fe-fell through. Still cold." 

"I'm sorry," Mac glanced over, taking in Jack's hunched shoulders, shaking with cold as he tried to get warm. "Heats up as far as it'll go. We can't really stop somewhere to get you warmed up, we're cutting it close to making it to exfil on time the way it is."

"I know," Jack nodded, determined, jaw aching from the struggle of trying to keep his teeth from chattering. "Just drive. Carefully. I'm g-good." 

He wasn't, and Mac knew that, but there wasn't much he could do other than get them to the safe, warm, dry jet that would take them back to sunny Los Angeles instead of the frigid tundra their latest mission had unexpectedly led them to. Jack was never one to draw benefit from soothing words, as much of a talker as he was himself. Falling back on their typical banter was more helpful to him than any of the comforting tactics Jack would have been providing had the roles been reversed. Teasing and distractions were what would help Jack more than anything. "And how are you blaming this on me? Just because I ran across that spot a few seconds before you did?" 

"Cause you c-cracked the ice," Jack argued, knowing exactly what Mac was doing and keeping up his end of the banter, even though he didn't feel like participating. 

"And whose idea was it to take the short cut across the frozen lake?" Mac asked, guiding the car slowly through an ice-covered curve in the road. "Cause it wasn't mine." 

"Thought it, it would be quicker." 

"It might have been," Mac conceded, "If we didn't have to stop and pull you out of the lake when it turned out to not be as frozen as you thought it was." 

"Jus one leg," Jack reminded, throwing Mac's earlier correction back at him. 

"Yeah," Mac pulled his gaze away from the road as they reached a straight stretch, looking over at the leg in question. It was hard to see with a barely-there sliver of the moon illuminating the night they were driving through, and the dark denim didn't reveal much, but the image of blood dripping onto the freshly-fallen snow once Jack had finally climbed free was burned into Mac's mind. Choosing speed over safety, the jagged edges of the hole he had crashed through had torn through the single layer of fabric and into the skin beneath. They hadn’t expected to travel as far north as the op had taken them and neither was really dressed for the trip, let alone an impromptu dip below the ice. "Speaking of that leg, how's it feeling?" 

"Can't really feel it," Jack muttered. "Can't feel m-much of anything. 'Cept cold." 

"Enjoy it while you can. Once you start to thaw out? Dude, it's gonna hurt. You know how bad those pins and needles can get. And that's without that leg already being sliced to shreds."

"Don-don't think it's t-that bad," Jack freed one hand from beneath his arm-finally starting to regain some feeling in his fingers-to reach down and tug the sodden material away from his leg. He winced as a sting of pain erupted when the cold denim brushed against one of the cuts. 

"I wouldn't know. You refused to stop long enough to let me check." 

"Thought you were in a hurry?" 

"That hurry goes out the window if you're going to bleed to death before we make our exfil time anyway," Mac argued. 

"Would'a froze to death first." 

"Not encouraging, Jack," Mac sent him a glare across the middle console separating them. 

"Just drive," Jack decidedly didn't meet his eyes, instead, staring straight ahead out the windshield as if his attention to the slick road in front of them was imperative even when Mac was the one behind the wheel. 

The next few miles passed in silence, Mac focusing on getting them to the airstrip they were scheduled to fly out of without any more incidents and Jack slowly beginning to warm up. Mac noticed the first moment Jack's nerves started to come back online, the small jerks of pain coming from the knee of his injured leg, not all that much different from the shivers that had been wracking his body only moments earlier, but Mac could tell. Eventually, Jack gave in, stretching his leg out in front of him as far as it would go beneath the dash with a hiss. 

"We're almost there," Mac said, offering what little comforting encouragement he could. "Just ride it out." 

"Always forget how much this part sucks," Jack muttered beneath his breath. Mac had already figured out that he was hurting and there was nobody else around so there was no point in trying to hide it. He cupped his hands together and blew a warm breath into them, letting the aching joints in his fingers soak up as much heat as they could before he reached down and tried to massage away the worst of the hurt in his thigh. "Man, what I wouldn't give for a hot shower right about now." 

"Think you might have to settle for a dry change of clothes and a heated blanket," Mac said with a sympathetic smile. "At least until we get home. And a first aid kit, cause you're letting me take care of that leg first thing."

"Just some scratches," Jack grit out through clenched teeth. 

"Then it won't take me long," Mac countered easily, not backing down. 

"Whatever, man," Jack leaned back in his seat, bending and straightening his knee with a wince, trying to speed up the process of thawing out so the pain would be over. "Too cold to care." 

"You've stopped shivering," Mac pointed out, sneaking another quick glance to the passenger seat to make sure he was right. "That's a good sign." 

"Thought that was a bad thing?" Jack asked. He knew what Mac was doing, keeping the conversation going, giving him something to focus on through the stinging pain that was riding the line between going from annoying to outright painful. "When you're cold and you stop shivering?"

"Yeah," Mac agreed, knowing good and well that Jack knew the answer before Mac even began explaining it. He had been the one hurting in the passenger seat enough times to know that it wasn't the content you were listening to, but the fact that there was someone there talking to you at all that helped. So he continued. "If it's still cold and you stop shivering that's a bad sign. Hypothermia is getting real close if you get to that point. But you're warming up and it stopped. Which means your core temp has raised enough that your body is no longer trying to keep itself regulated. You're going to be fine, it just... sucks. For a while, at least." 

"Least I didn't fall all the way through," Jack sighed. "That would have really sucked." 

"Yeah," Mac huffed a laugh. "Yeah, it would have. But hey, at least you're not alone out here." 

"That would've sucked more." 

Mac looked over, expecting a teasing smile to soften the emotional impact of the words, but Jack's gaze was steady when his eyes met Mac's. 

"I mean it, kid," Jack continued. "Thanks for puttin' up with me. Not just now. You know, always."

"Of course," Mac smiled, turning his attention back to the road, thankful to have something else to focus on. Heartfelt moments weren't his specialty. "That's what partners are for."


	21. I Don't Feel So Well

Jack's quiet. It was an unusual occurrence. He usually fills the space between them with endless chatter, especially when one of Mac's plans lead them into less-than-ideal circumstances, and crawling their way to their escape in the tight, damp space between the ground and the foundation of the house they weren't supposed to be seen in certainly fit the bill. But it was dark and Mac didn't have much room to turn around and investigate his partner's uncharacteristic quietness, so he chose to keep going, Jack's occasional grunt and muttered complaint all the reassurance Mac needed to know he was still behind him. 

It was difficult to tell from where they were below the house, but Mac was fairly certain they were over halfway through when Jack's voice finally broke through, stopping him instantly. "Hey, Mac? I ain't tryin' to freak you out or anything here, but I-I think something's wrong." It was more than him not liking the escape route Mac had found, his voice tense with worry. 

"What kind of wrong?" Mac turned, forehead scrunching into a wince as his knee landed on the sharp edge of a rock, until he was facing Jack's general direction. It was a tight squeeze for him to move around comfortably, so he knew Jack had to have been having a harder time squeezing his broad shoulders through the space. 

"I don't know. I don't feel right." 

"What kind of not right?" Mac prodded, needing more information. Whatever was wrong had his partner seriously rattled. 

"Really, I don't know. Maybe I was exposed to somethin'? Inhaled it? Don't remember them havin' a chance to dart me, but something's... not right." 

"Okay," Mac inched closer, scraping a hand along one of the wooden beams between him and the house's foundation until he could fit his hand into his pocket and pull out his phone, switching on the flashlight and illuminating the space between them. "Give me a little more to work with than that. I need details." 

"I don't know, man. My vision's goin' all hazy around the edges and I swear my heart's tryin' to beat its way outta my chest. It's hot in here, I know it is, I'm sweatin' up a storm but I'm freezing at the same time. They had to have drugged me, right? That's the only answer?" 

"I- yeah, I guess it could be drugs," Mac admitted. It was difficult to tell with nothing but the dim light of his cellphone to illuminate things, but it was obvious Jack was pale, the whites of his eyes wide. 

"How are you?" Jack asked, doing what he did best and putting his own problems aside to take care of Mac. "You feelin' okay?"

"I feel fine," Mac assured, taking a moment to check in with himself and make sure. Nothing felt off. "If I didn't know any better, Jack, I'd say it sounds like you're..." Jack's shoulders were heaving with every breath, scraping against the boards above him, brown eyes begging for Mac to have an answer and a way out. Suddenly, he's transported back to the crematorium in New Orleans, panic gripping his mind and overriding everything else as he pulled the wooden coffin out of the flames of the incinerator without thinking. He breathed out a sigh of relief because Jack's going to be fine. No drugs, no injuries, just the trauma of what had ended up being on the list of both of their least favorite missions coming back to haunt them in a really inopportune time. "Jack it sounds like you're headed towards a panic attack, okay? We're gonna try and slow it down." 

"What?" Jack frowned, confusion briefly breaking through what Mac had identified as fear on his face. "Why? What from?" 

"That coffin back in New Orleans," Mac explained softly, not wanting to make things worse. 

Jack was fully prepared to argue, but the mention of that disaster of a mission and how close of a call it ended in sent a jolt of fear through his chest. Tight space, rough boards above, not much air, too warm. It was all pointing to Mac being right, as much as he hated to admit it. "Damn," He huffed, trying to remind himself that he could breathe and talk at the same time, even though his body seemed to have forgotten how. "What now?" 

"We ride it out," Mac answered, moving even closer, scooting through the dirt until he was able to reach out and rest a hand on the clammy skin of Jack's arm. "And when you feel up to moving we keep going and get out of here." 

"Don't really think moving's an option," Jack said, hating to admit to his own weakness. "Kinda feels like I don't know how to do that anymore." 

Mac forced a smile, pretending to have a much better grip on the situation than he felt like he did. "No rush. We'll get there. Close your eyes, eliminate the visual." He expected Jack to protest, hardwired to stay alert and aware, but he let his eyes drop closed, cheek collapsing onto the forearm Mac didn't have a steady hand on. "What now?" 

"Um," Mac hesitated. He had expected to have at least a few minutes of convincing Jack to close his eyes to come up with the next step. But improvising was kind of his thing. "Tell me something that's different," He suggested. "Between now and when you were there." 

"You," Jack answered instantly. "You're here." 

"Yeah, big guy," Mac smiled. "Yeah, I'm here. Keep going. Something else." 

"Dirt," Jack answered this time, unclenching the fists his hands had curled into and digging his fingers into the soft dirt beneath him, needing to feel for himself that it was actually there instead of the rough pine boards his mind was trying to convince him he was laying on. 

"Yup," Mac encouraged. "Good. Can you try taking a breath for me?" 

It wasn't as deep as Mac had hoped, but Jack pulled in a breath of air, rattling through his chest, and it cleared away enough of the panic flooding his mind to let him notice something else different. "There's no smoke." 

"Nope," Mac agreed. "There isn't. Nothing's burning, no danger, just an unfortunately small exit route. As soon as you feel up to moving again we can keep going. Get out of here." 

"Out's good." 

"Whenever you're ready. Take your time." 

Jack pried his eyes open, squinting through the brightness of Mac's flashlight to meet his eyes. "I want outta here." 

"Okay," Mac nodded. "You want to get in front? Get there a little faster?" 

Jack let his eyes fall back closed for a moment, considering, before opening them again with newfound determination. "Naw, you go. Need to be able to make sure you're safe." 

"Unless we come across a raccoon, what else is going to be down here to get me?" Mac teased with a smile. 

"Don't know. But I wanna be able to see it comin'." 

"Okay," Mac agreed as he slipped his phone back in his pocket and resumed crawling, trusting that Jack would be right behind him. "But if you need to stop again, you tell me. Before it gets that bad." 

"You think it'll ever stop?" Jack asked, falling back on his tried and true habit of talking through an uncomfortable situation. "This whole feeling like I'm gonna die thing? Or is it gonna spring back up every time I find myself in a tight spot?" 

"I don't know," Mac answered honestly. "Maybe not. It could just be because that memory is so fresh in your mind still. But yeah, I guess there's a chance. No big deal, if it is. We'll work around it." 

"You know how many times we've gotta hide in tight spots doin' this job?" Jack complained, crawling close behind Mac. "This could be a problem, man. I mean, hell, it's gonna get a little awkward if you've gotta talk me down from a meltdown every time I go into a bathroom stall." 

"I think you'll be fine," Mac laughed. 

They were quiet for a few moments, making slow progress of inching across the ground before Jack's voice broke through the silence again. "Is that how it feels? Every time?" 

"What?" Mac asked, slowing to a halt. 

"That panic," Jack explained. "That locks you in place and don't let you think or move or anything? Is that how you feel every time you jump outta a plane or scale a building?" 

"Oh," Mac frowned, unsure how to answer. "I guess it's probably different for everybody. And to some extent, you do get used to it after a while. Or at least learn how to push it to the side and work through it. But yeah, I guess. Different trigger, same fear." 

"Well now I feel hella guilty for all those times I told you to suck it up and get on with it when you were freaking out." 

"You didn't," Mac corrected, but he could feel Jack's doubtful glare even through the dark behind him, so he explained further. "Sometimes, sure. But only when the options were that or meet an untimely and probably painful demise. Trust me, you've helped me through more of those times than you even remember. You do it without even realizing it. And if this is something that sticks around for you, then I guess it's my turn to start repaying all those times."

"You shouldn't have to deal with that though," Jack argued. 

"And how many different people told you that when we started work at DXS and they all found out I refused to carry a gun?" Mac countered. "You put up with my quirks, I put up with yours. And somehow, it works." 

"Those people were idiots though," Jack complained, not entirely paying attention to the argument anymore. He wasn't sure if it was just wishful thinking on his part or not, but he swore there was a literal light at the end of the tunnel they were inching towards that could only mean freedom. Open space and sunshine that would melt away the crushing weight that had taken up residency on his chest. 

"Which is what you're being right now if you are seriously suggesting that this is going to leave me thinking any less of you or your ability to do your job. I think we're getting close," Mac added as an afterthought, seeing the light Jack had been focusing on the next time he looked up. "You wanna take a break?" 

"Nope," Jack shook his head, even more determined now that he knew he wasn't imagining them nearing the end. "I'm good if you are. Get the hell out of here, I'm right behind you." 

"And that's where you're staying, right?" Mac asked. The panic was entirely understandable. With everything Phoenix agents went through on a daily basis, nobody could expect them to retire without picking up at least a couple of new traumas that they would carry with them. Mac wasn't worried about that, he was worried about Jack thinking he wasn't good enough. That the latest incident had somehow left him unable to do his job. They had joined the agency together, and one way or another, they were leaving it together. That had always been the plan. 

"As long as you wanna put up with me," Jack confirmed. 

"Then you're stuck with me for a really long time." 

Jack wouldn't have it any other way.


	22. Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You?

"Boze, you know you don't have to fix a huge meal every time we make it back from an op, right?" Mac asked, looking down at the half-eaten taco still on his plate. It was his third, or maybe fourth, of the evening and he was seriously doubting if he would be able to finish it. He had lost count. As soon as he would finish one Bozer would already be to work loading up another with heaps of toppings, not giving him the chance to say he didn't really want it. 

"Look, I always tried to keep the two of you fed," Bozer argued, piling another grill-marked tortilla high with steak strips for himself. "Now that I know what you actually do for a living? Seriously, dude. Making sure you have a decent meal to come home to is the least I can do for a couple of super spies keeping the world safe." 

"I know," Mac smiled, his friend’s heartfelt speech enough to prompt him into taking another bite. "But you don't have to go full out every time. We're perfectly happy with takeout every once in a while." 

"We'll save the takeout for after my super-spy training is done and I'm out there with you," Bozer compromised, eyes lighting up with excitement at the thought. "If I'm home? I'm cooking." 

"Okay, I can't really argue with that," Mac agreed. "But I seriously can't eat anymore." He pushed the plate away, ceramic dully scraping against the wooden table beneath.

"You sure? There's plenty left," Bozer nodded towards the array of bowls the table, filled with the toppings he had dubbed the guest-stars to support the leading actors that were, Mac could only assume, the steak, chicken, and shrimp in the center. "But I guess that's because Jack didn't eat as much as usual. He okay? This isn't one of those times where one of you is hurt and you're trying to hide it, right? Cause you don't have to do that anymore." 

"No," Mac frowned, the highlights of the latest mission playing through his mind in fast-forward. "No, he's fine." 

"You sure?" Bozer asked again, looking over at Jack's empty plate. "Cause I only made him two. And he's been in the bathroom a while, hasn't he?" 

"I'll go check on him," Mac stood up, tossing his napkin over the food he hadn't finished, and making his way inside, worried that Bozer was right. 

"Jack?" He knocked on the bathroom door. "You alright?" 

"Um, yeah?" There was a waver in his voice that left Mac worried. 

"No offense, but I don't really believe you," Mac's hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment of uncertainty before he decided that personal space was something he and Jack had thrown out the window years ago. "So I'm coming in and you can try that lie to my face." 

"I'm good," Jack tried again once Mac had entered the room, nose wrinkling at the chemical scent of the aerosol disinfectant spray Bozer kept beneath the sink. 

"Are you sick?" 

"Said I was fine, didn't I?" 

"You're pale and sweaty and it looks like that death-grip you've got on that counter there is the only thing keeping you standing," Mac argued, taking a step closer. "You wanna maybe not lie to me?" 

"I don't know, man," Jack finally turned to look at him. "Been feelin' a little off all day. Guess those tacos didn't agree with me." 

"Why didn't you say you were sick," Mac scolded, stepping closer. 

"I ain't sick. Jack Dalton don't do sick." 

"Your face, and those tacos you just brought right back up, says otherwise," Mac argued. "Are you fevered? You look like you're running a warm." It took a couple of times of Jack ducking to avoid his hand, but Mac finally got his palm laid against Jack's forehead which was, in fact, warm. "Yeah, definite fever." 

"You know how many times over the years you've given me a lecture on how that ain't an accurate way to check?" Jack complained, swatting Mac's hand away. "I'm fine." He tried to step around Mac, heading back towards the living room, but the movement of feigning left and going right pulled at his abdomen and left him gasping in pain, reaching out to catch himself on Mac's shoulder. 

Mac rolled his eyes but held Jack steady until he was stable on his own feet. "Okay, we're past the stage of you trying to brush this off. How long have you been sick?"

"Just since we got home." 

Mac's warning glare was intimidating enough that Jack felt inclined to backup his statement. "Really, dude. That's it." 

"Honestly?" 

Jack nodded slowly, sticking to his story before he made the mistake of glancing over at Mac's eyes and his determination waned. "Though I hadn't really eaten anything since yesterday? So that might have been why?" 

"That's why," Mac agreed, shaking his head. "How long have you been hurting?" 

He was caught, and as much as it hurt his pride, there wasn't much point in lying about it anymore. "Couple days." 

"Jack!" 

"It wasn't this bad," he held up a protesting hand, asking Mac to hear him out before he got even more upset. "Really. It wasn't. Thought I'd just pulled a muscle or somethin' at first. But it got worse instead of better. Figured I'd see that last op through and then get checked out. But Bozer had that dinner all ready and waitin' on us so I thought it could wait until morning." 

"Clearly not," Mac sighed. "Wait, you thought it was a muscle?" 

"Yeah," Jack nodded. "It ain't like I'm goin' around pulling the punches I throw. Put my weight behind 'em. Wasn't gonna mention that I might have hurt myself doin' it." 

"You're right side?" 

"Well, yeah." 

Biting his lip, knowing what it meant but hoping he was wrong, Mac lifted Jack's shirt. Familiar scars on top of muscle, but no visible reason for him to be hurting. "Don't hit me." He warned. 

"What would I hit you for?" 

"Just... take a breath," Mac instructed. "If I'm wrong you won't have a reason to hit me."

"I ain't gonna hit you," Jack rolls his eyes, wondering why, of the two of them, Mac suddenly became the dramatic one, when cool fingers press low against his side. "See? That don't even hurt." 

If Mac hadn't been expecting it, there to catch Jack and keep him upright as he doubled over, yelling in pain, he would have hit the floor when Mac pulled his hand back.

"Sorry," Mac apologized once Jack had a moment to catch his breath. "Quickest way to check." 

"No," Jack shook his head once some of the pain had cleared from his mind and he realized what Mac was suggesting. "No way." 

"You already had it taken out?" 

"Well, no. But-" 

"Jack. The fever, nausea, and rebound pain are all sure-fire indicators." 

"Yeah, but," Jack frowned. "But there's no way it's my appendix. If there's actually somethin' wrong it's gotta be way cooler than just that."

Mac couldn't help but grin. "Guess we'll find out who's right once we get you checked out. Hey, Boze?" He called, poking his head back out into the hallway. "Can you bring me a phone?" 

"Hold your horses, now," Jack stood up a little straighter, trying to convince them both that he was fine. "I might be willing to admit that something's not quite right. But you don't need to go callin' a damn ambulance." 

"I'm not calling an ambulance," Mac rolled his eyes at his partner's flair for the dramatic before stopping. "Wait. Do you need me to call an ambulance? Cause I was just going to call and have them get an OR ready and drive you in myself, but..."

"No!," Jack huffed a sigh of relief. "No, I don't need an ambulance. I'm fine. It hurts," he admitted at the dubious look Mac sent his way, "But I'm fine. It ain't ambulance bad." 

"Phone!" Bozer called rushing down the hall, nearly passing up the doorway to the bathroom in his haste. "I got your phone," He held up one of the three phones in his hands. "Brought mine too. And Jack's, from the table. Wasn't sure how many you needed. What's wrong?" His eyes narrowed as he took a breath and got his first actual look at Jack. "What's wrong with him. Is he dying? You better not be dying."

"Nobody's dying," Mac rolled his eyes, taking his phone out of Bozer's hand. "Think it's his appendix. I'm just calling and letting whoever's on call tonight know what's going on. Stay with him while I grab his go-bag and shoes?" He raised a hand, waving off Jack's complaints about not needing a babysitter when his call finally connected and he left the room, heading for his closet and the duffel bag of Jack's things that always stayed there, packed and ready to go, answering questions from the medical staff as he went.

"Shoes," Mac announced, dropping Jack's unlaced boots on the floor in front of them. "Just step in 'em, no point in tying. They'll be coming right off when we get there anyway. You've only got to make it to and from the car. They're expecting us." 

"I knew it wasn't my tacos," Bozer crowed proudly while he helped Jack steady himself as he stepped into the boots. "No way. Those things were a culinary masterpiece. Knew it had to be something else." 

"Can we not talk about food right now, please?" Jack groaned, swallowing heavily and closing his eyes. 

"Yeah," Mac shot Bozer a warning look as he handed over Jack's duffel bag. "Go put this in the Jeep for me? We're right behind you." 

Bozer took off barreling back down the hallway, bag thumping against the wall as he went. 

"You know I love that little dude," Jack began, waving off Mac's hands as he tried to step in and help him as they slowly made their way towards the front door. "But one of these days he's gonna go and hurt himself trying to take care of everyone." 

Mac laughed. "Sounds like somebody else I know." 

"This one was totally out of my control, hoss," Jack winced, stopping for a moment to catch his breath and Mac used the opportunity to duck beneath his shoulder and help move things along. "You don't think he's mad, right? 'Bout the tacos?" 

"No, he's not mad," Mac assured. "He's just worried. And I'd be willing there will be a huge pot of chicken noodle soup waiting on you when you get home to prove it."

"Kay," Jack mumbled, leaning a little more on Mac as they made it to the entryway. Bozer was there beside Mac's Jeep, both front doors open and waiting. "Why we takin' your ride?" 

"Because you're not driving?" Mac said as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. "And I'm guessing you're going to be too sore to feel like cleaning puke out of the floorboard of the GTO when you get back home?" 

"Oh," Jack nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Good plan." 

"Here, climb in," Mac held the door steady while Jack go situated in the passenger seat, Bozer hovering nearby. 

"You want me to go with?" He asked. "Or follow behind? Stay here? What do you need me to do?" 

One look at Jack, pale and shaky in the passenger's seat, and Mac knew the last thing he would want was an audience. "Hang out here for now," He instructed. "That way if I forgot to grab something you can bring it to us and I won't have to leave him?" Bozer nodded eagerly, happy to have something to do, even if it was just waiting. "And maybe call Matty? I didn't get a chance to give her a heads up on what's happening and we're going to need off the roster for a while." 

"Couple days," Jack corrected automatically and Mac smiled. 

"I can do that," Bozer assured. "Keep me updated?" 

"I'll call you as soon as I have something to tell," Mac promised, turning back to Jack once Bozer had started climbing the drive back to the house. "Alright, just us. Last chance. You sure you're good with me driving you in." 

"Yeah, yeah," Jack waved the offer for calling an ambulance off as he fastened his seat belt. "Hey, this is one of those quick little surgeries, right?" Jack asked, eyes turning back to meet Mac's, apprehension shining through the pain. 

"Should be, yeah," Mac nodded. "As long as I get you there in time. Which is why you're supposed to tell someone these things before it gets too bad." He closed Jack's door and jogged around to the other side. "Ready?" 

Jack nodded. 

Mac had plenty of experience being the one hurting in the passenger seat, so he knew what helped. "Hang on," He said, reaching over and dropping a hand onto Jack's knee as he backed out of the drive. "I gotcha."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted there to be a moment in this of Jack straight up asking "Do these tacos taste funny to you?" a la Dean Winchester in Mystery Spot, but the muse wasn't having it.


	23. What's A Whumpee Gotta Do To Get Some Sleep Around Here?

"What's the ETA on exfil?" Jack groaned out, panting through the pain as Mac lowered him to the ground, back against a nearby tree. "This hike outta here sucks."

"Rest for a minute, stay off that leg," Mac instructed, checking the bandage Jack had already bled through. "Des, this is bad," He looked up at Desi, phone pressed between her ear and shoulder as she dropped their packs to the ground beside Jack.

"Exfil can come to us," She confirmed once she had ended the call, avoiding Jack's eyes. "But they're about an hour out."

Jack sighed, letting his head drop against the trunk of the tree holding him up. "Guess we keep goin'. Meet 'em halfway."

"Not on that leg you're not," Desi protested, crouching down on Jack's other side, his blood-drenched leg between her and Mac. "It was risky moving you as far as we did."

"If my options are walkin' on a leg with a bullet hole and being taken hostage by the mercs in that compound we were runnin' from," Jack argued "I'll take the bum leg every time. It hurts, but I can make it with some help."

Mac pulled away the bandage that wasn't doing much good since it was already sodden with blood, inspecting the wound closer since they were in a fairly safe spot to take a break and further investigate. "No, it looks like the bullet fragmented," He shook his head. "Probably hit bone. We shouldn't have moved you this far. Too high a chance of one of the pieces shifting and hitting an artery."

"We made it out," Desi looked over her shoulder in the direction of the compound they had escaped, "But not without making a scene. They're going to be looking for us. I'm not low on ammo, especially with what Jack's packing and mine. I can hold them off if they find us, but it would probably be in everyone's best interest if we stay quiet and not draw attention to our location."

"That's a plan I'm all for if it works," Mac agreed, running a worried hand through his hair, smearing a streak of Jack's blood through the blonde strands. "But what if we have to make a run for it? Even carrying him completely isn't safe. Not with those bullet shards in his leg."

"Stop talkin' about me like I ain't here," Jack said, somehow still managing to find enough strength to put behind the words that it sounded like an order. "You two know what you gotta do. Better get started while the coast's still clear."

"I'm not doing field surgery on you in the middle of the woods," Mac argued, looking around at the trees surrounding them, hoping one of them would have a better suggestion.

"Not by yourself you're not," Jack agreed, looking over at Desi. "You got some help this time. Knew there was a reason we kept her around."

"Thanks," She rolled her eyes. "Mac's right though, if it hasn't shifted our best bet is to leave it where it is until help arrives."

"Unless the baddies get here first." Jack shrugged. "I don't care how much ammo you got on hand, you can't hold your own in a firefight forever. If it comes down to it, we're runnin'. Personally, I'd rather have the bullet shards that could clip an artery and bleed me dry in a couple'a minutes already out before it came to that. But it's your call, I'll leave it up to the two of you to decide what you wanna do."

Mac and Desi shared a heavy look, knowing Jack was right even though neither of them wanted to admit it.

"It's gonna suck," she warned after a moment. "Like, a lot."

"You think I don't know that?" Jack scoffed, stretching his injured leg out in front of him with a wince. "Do your worst."

"I'm not saying we're doing this," Mac started digging through the backpack they had with them. "But if we were going to, we're actually not totally screwed on the supplies front." He pulled out the stark white box of a first aid kit. "We've done more with a lot less."

Desi nodded slowly, thinking, weighing their options. "You'd have to be quiet," She said eventually. "Really quiet. And not screaming around a belt quiet, either. _Quiet_. Even though it's gonna hurt like hell. We can't do this if you're going to need to yell through it and bring them right to us."

"I can do that," Jack assured, determined. "I'm ready whenever you are."

"Des-" Mac tried again, still looking for another option.

"You got another plan, Mac? Great. If not," She sighed. "I don't like this either. But I'm not seeing any way around it."

"You really trust us with this?" Mac asked Jack, worry reflected in his blue eyes against Jack's brown that was trying so hard not to let their own fear show.

"Course I do," Jack nodded.

"Okay," Mac agreed, as much as he hated to, after a tense moment, giving Jack a chance to change his mind. "I'm gonna see what we've got to work with." He clapped a hand on Jack's shoulder as he stood up, kneeling back down beside Desi who was already sorting through the supplies in the medkit.

They were too far away for Jack to hear what they were saying. That's what he told himself, at least. It was a better excuse than the roaring drone of pain and blood loss rushing through his ears drowning out most of the other sounds. But they were his kids. They were well trained and he trusted them. Implicitly.

"Here," Mac was suddenly back at his side, dropping three pills into his palm. "Take these while we get everything set up."

"What are they?" He squinted at the tiny circles in his palm, trying to distinguish what they were through the hazy film of pain that was already encroaching on his vision.

"Antibiotics," Mac said, eyes locked on what Desi was doing instead of looking at Jack as he answered. "We're doing surgery in the middle of the woods, figured we might as well get a head start on fending off infection. And it's not like you're not gonna be on them for the next couple of weeks. If you even survive this."

"You're gonna do just fine, kid," Jack assured, easily dry swallowing both pills with ease. "I trust ya. The both of ya."

"You might as well get him laying down, Mac," Desi said, not looking up from where she was arranging their meager supplies out on a piece of plastic, focused on the task instead of the blind faith she couldn't help but feel as though she didn't deserve. "Let him rest for a minute while I'm still getting things ready."

Jack did his best to help Mac in getting himself laying on the forest floor, but his arms started trembling with the exertion of bearing his weight when he tried. "Take it easy," Mac soothed, brushing a fallen autumn leaf off of Jack's shoulder where it had stuck to his shirt as if that was the biggest problem they had to worry about at the moment. He knew he should be helping Desi get things ready, or at the very least, scrubbing up to his elbows with the bottle of hand sanitizer she had unpacked, but he was biding his time and enjoying the last few moments of peace he had with his partner, not knowing when the next time he would get the chance would be. He slipped his flannel shirt off his shoulders and folded up as an improvised pillow beneath Jack's head.

"You're gonna get cold," Jack murmured, seeing Mac's bare arms, focusing on that instead of the way his words came out heavy on his tongue, chalking it up to blood loss.

"Least of our problems," Mac reminded him with a sad smile. "Just, tell yourself you're keeping me from getting blood all over it if that makes you feel better."

"Mac?" Desi's voice broke through the tranquil moment, prompting Mac into action. "Wanna come help me with this?"

Jack didn't get a chance to see just what she was asking for his help with. Mac stood up, leaves crackling beneath his boots as he walked the short distance away, and when Jack tried to follow, he found his eyes couldn't track Mac's movements as easily as they should have. The harder he tried, the more his vision started to go grey around the edges, eyelids more difficult to open after every blink. When he tried to prop himself up on his elbows, he couldn't get his arms to work either, not enough to hold him up at least. "Mac?" He called, concerned for a moment before noticing the way Mac's already tense frame flinched at the sound of his voice. Jack might not have been completely on his game, but his job was watching Mac's back, and he knew the tell-tale sign of guilt when he saw it. The pieces started falling into place.

"The hell'd you give me?" He asked, words beginning to slur, and Mac turned back around, guilt shining bright in his eyes.

"Don't fight it," He begged, scooting across the ground until he could wrap Jack's closest hand in his steady grip, fingers coming to rest on the pulse point at Jack's wrist. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to. But we have to be quiet right now and I knew you wouldn't take them if I gave you a choice."

"You drugged me?"

"If you're gonna be mad," Desi cut in "You've got to be mad at both of us. We agreed it was the way to go for this. Can't have you screaming when we start and the pain gets out of hand."

"Said I could do it," Jack argued. It was a losing battle and they all knew it, no matter how stubborn and strong the drugs would eventually win and pull him under. But he wasn't going down without a fight, regardless of what Mac asked of him. "You should've given me a chance. 'stead of going behind my back." He had to pause to regain his bearings as the ground spun lazily beneath him. "I wouldn'ta done that to you."

"I'm sorry," Mac tried again, sounding near tears as Jack's accusation washed over him, leaving him regretting and rethinking every decision he had made that had lead to their current situation.

"I'm not," Desi interrupted firmly. "It was the right call. Not only to keep you safe but to keep all of us safe. You don't get to guilt trip Mac into feeling bad about this, because you would have done the exact same thing. Don't even try to argue with me and tell me you wouldn't."

"Wouldn't have lied," Jack kept fighting, forcing his eyes to reopen every time they slipped closed against his will.

"Pass out already," Desi said, and anyone that didn't know her well enough to see past the walls would have thought the order sounded overly harsh when, in actuality, it was hurting her almost as much as it was Mac to see the betrayal in Jack's eyes and she was anxiously awaiting the moment the fight would be finished. "We can argue about it after this is over if you want."

"Please?" Mac asked softly, giving up on trying to keep track of Jack's pulse and shifting his fingers until he was outright holding onto Jack's hand. "It's bad enough that I'm going to be hurting you. Don't make me know you're going to be awake to feel it too?"

"Didn't really give me much say in the matter," Jack grumbled, eyes falling closed again. They didn't reopen, his lax hand in Mac's grip grabbing tight for the briefest of moments, recognizing the familiar feeling of his partner's hand and trying to cling to it in an attempt to cling to the last threads of consciousness before passing out entirely.

"Jack?"

"He's out, Mac," Desi dropped a hand to his shoulder on the way back to the neatly organized row of medical supplies she had laid out. "That's what we wanted. Let's get this over with before he wakes up. They won't last forever and I really don't want to have a pen knife within his reach when he wakes up."

"You think he's going to hate us after this?" Mac asked, regretfully laying Jack's hand back down at his side and following Desi's lead.

"Hate us? No," She shook her head. "Be royally pissed? Absolutely. But I stand by our decision. And that's what it was, Mac. Ours. You weren't in this by yourself. If he's going to be mad, it's not just at you."

"He went under upset with me," Mac sighed, eyes flicking over to Jack's unconscious form, unable to stay focused on anything else for more than a few seconds at a time. "That's never happened before."

"And you can make it up to him by making sure this is over by the time he wakes up," Desi prompted gently. "He's not gonna hate you. You with me?"

He knew that Desi was right. Jack wouldn't hate him. It didn't stop him from hating himself though, as he nodded. "Let's get it over with."


	24. You're Not Making Any Sense

The door to Jack's hospital room creaked as Mac pushed it open. His partner seemed to be asleep, propped up against pillows. The harsh lines of bruising circling his neck a stark contrast to the white of the sheets and the hospital gown and the walls around him nearly made Mac's knees buckle. He turned, hand on the doorknob, telling himself that he wasn't wimping out but rather leaving Jack to rest in peace, when a noise, not quite a word, croaked out from the bed. He turned on instinct, and found warm brown eyes, familiar and soft even through the haze of pain, staring back at him.

"Hi," Jack managed, the sound at least understandable as a word instead of the garbled groans that his voice had become after his latest brush with death.

"Hi," Mac answered with a sad smile, unable to leave now that Jack was awake, even though the sight of the bruises left him feeling as if his stomach was about to fall out of his toes. It was the same sickening drop of nerves he felt every time he found himself facing an unpleasant height. Apparently, nearly letting his partner be killed, hanged by the terror cell they were supposed to be taking down, left him with the same anxiety. Good to know. "How you feeling?"

"Been better," Jack admitted, reaching up to rub at the bruises.

"Pretty sure you're not supposed to be talking," Mac reminded him gently, tugging Jack's hand back away from his neck. "Or did you miss that part of your recovery plan?"

The wink Jack sent his way in lieu of an actual response was telling enough, though there wasn't enough spark behind the motion to ease Mac's worry.

"The more you talk," Mac continued, "The longer your vocal cords are going to take to heal. Which means you're going to be stuck not talking for even longer."

"Not very fair," Jack muttered, wincing as the words sent the pain in his throat spiking.

"Jack, stop," Mac warned, sending a worried glance over his shoulder at the crack in the door, making sure nobody in the hallway had heard the broken voice. "We're not home. No familiar staff of Phoenix Med to overlook your quirks. It was hard enough convincing them to let me stay past visiting hours. They hear that broken-glass sound you're calling a voice they're gonna kick me out for sure."

The lecture, even though Mac was right, was all Jack needed to see how close Mac was to coming unglued. This one had shaken him, worse than their typical close calls, and Jack didn't even have his voice, the one thing that was almost guaranteed to calm Mac in even the middle of his worst mental spirals, to pull him back to the surface. But he was in a tough spot because he would push through the pain, ignore the recommendations-which were really more instructions, but whatever- of not speaking to ease Mac's nerves but the kid was stressing out about it too much. That would just make things worse, which was the last thing Jack wanted to do. But if he didn't have use of his voice to bring his kid down from the ledge, his hands would work just fine.

He reached out, ignoring the ache in his fingers, scraped and sore from futilely digging at the rope around his neck, and wrapped them around Mac's wrist. Mac tracked the movement, staring down at their hands for a moment before looking back up to Jack, meeting his eyes, and Jack watched as the worst of the panic melted away. His lips mouthed the words "I'm okay," without putting any sound to them.

"You almost weren't though," Mac reminded him, turning his hand so that he was now grasping Jack's, needing the reassurance of life to steady him. "This one was way too close, Jack."

"You saved me," Jack mouthed the words again, relying on Mac to read his lips. "Just like always."

"But what if I couldn't?" Mac protested, the what-ifs of their latest mission spinning through his mind, and endless whirl of him being too late or not good enough. "If-"

Jack cut him off with a squeeze of his hand, shaking his head and making Mac look him in the eyes, trying to drive his point home without being able to talk. It hadn't been Mac's fault. And if Mac hadn't been able to save him, if he had returned home alone, it wasn't for lack of him trying or having the ability to do his job.

It was a lot to convey with a mere look, and Jack wasn't certain Mac fully believed it, but the younger man smiled and let go of Jack's hand, moving to adjust the scratchy hospital blanket Jack was covered up with, needing something to keep him occupied. "Alright, I get what you're saying," He assured. "Enough worrying about me. I'm fine. You're the one who's hurt. Can't even talk."

Jack opened his mouth, fully prepared to prove his partner wrong, but Mac stopped him with a warning glare. "Don't even think about it."

"I'll be fine," Jack mimed the words despite his instincts telling him to push past the pain and the advisory against using his voice to reassure his kid.

And he would be. Mac knew that. It had just been a little too close to not ending up that way for Mac to stop worrying about it yet. "Complete vocal rest for the foreseeable future," He repeated the doctors earlier warning. "That's gonna be awful for both of us. You for not being able to run that mouth of yours, and me for having to keep reminding you of it."

* * *

"Bozer, get out here!" Riley's voice carried through the house out onto the deck where Bozer was standing at the grill. "They're home!"

"These burgers aren't gonna watch themselves, you know," Bozer complained as he jogged down the few steps, wiping his hands on the apron he was wearing. "And I don't see you volunteering to fix the welcome home dinner."

"Like you would let me even if I tried," She rolled her eyes, snagging the string tying the apron behind his neck and pulling the knot loose as he shouldered past her in the kitchen meaning he had to stop and take it fully off or retie it, either way giving her a chance to be the first one to make it to the front door.

The GTO pulled into the driveway, the familiar roar of the engine a welcome sound to a house that had been far too quiet for the past couple of days. Riley headed towards the passenger side, Bozer right on her heels, until the driver's side door swung open and Jack climbed out, causing her to change course and head towards his awaiting hug.

"Are you even supposed to be driving?" She asked once she had pulled back enough to wince in sympathy at the ring of bruising circling his neck.

"Don't answer that," Mac warned, shutting the door of the passenger seat behind him. "Technically, no, he probably isn't. But he hasn't had anything stronger than Tylenol for over twenty-four hours and he passed all the cognitive tests before they discharged him. So he wasn't taking no for an answer."

"Welcome home," Bozer smiled as Jack pulled him in for a hug next. "That feel as bad as it looks?"

"Don't," Mac warned again, sending a tired glare across the hood of the car. "Don't answer that one either."

Jack rolled his eyes and gave some serious thought to completely ignoring maturity and sticking his tongue out at Mac but a look at how exhausted the younger man looked, too many sleepless nights spent at Jack's bedside worrying, nightmares of being too late to cut the rope around his partner's neck loose in time plaguing the rare moments of sleep he managed, and he decided against it. Instead, he held up a finger, asking Bozer to wait for a moment, as he reached back through the open window of the car and pulled out a small spiral notebook, flipping through the pages, already wrinkled and creased with wear, until he found the one he was searching for. Scrawled with a permanent marker that he had lifted from the nurse’s station during one of his boredom-curing walks around the floor he, for security reasons, hadn't been allowed to leave, were the words "I'm fine" with an exclamation mark and three underlines.

"A little old school, don't you think?" Riley laughed as she realized the notebook was filled with common answers. "You do know it would be a whole lot easier to just type them out on your phone?"

"I tried," Mac shook his head fondly, grabbing both their go-bags out of the back seat and heading towards the house. "He's got an answer for that one too."

Bozer peered over Jack's shoulder as he flipped through the pages as they all walked up the drive, finally landing on one that declared "It's a classic."

"How often did you need to use that?"

"A lot," Mac cringed. "The hospital we were in got a whole twelve channels and one of them only played old westerns."

As soon as Mac opened the front door, finally home, Jack's face broke into a wide grin. He pulled the marker out of the spiral ring, popping the lid off with his teeth before spinning Mac around to bare on his back as he turned to a blank page and hastily scribbled out "Burgers?!"

"You know it, man," Bozer beamed proudly. "I'm guessing that was a good call for your first meal out?"

Jack nodded vigorously before remembering why that wasn't a good idea as the bruises and damaged muscles of his neck protested. Mac turned to Riley, three fingers held in the air that counted down to two, then one as Jack flipped through his notebook again, landing on the right message just as Mac's countdown ended, holding up a page that declared "Hospital food sucks."

Things weren't okay quite yet, and Mac was sure he would be blaming himself for the weeks of painful quiet and the bruises long after they had faded, but they were home and things were finally beginning to get back to normal. And for now? That would have to be enough.


	25. I Think I'll Collapse Right Here, Thanks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry today's chapters are a little later than usual y'all. I literally finished this one a few hours ago between customers at work.

"Um, the bed's that way," Mac frowned, hooking a thumb over his shoulder and pointing down the hall. "That must be one hell of a concussion if you don't remember that."

"Couch is closer," Jack said, tossing his jacket onto a barstool as he passed it, switching off the living room lights as soon as he could reach them.

"But a bed is comfier," Mac argued, trailing behind Jack and nearly tripping over the boots he had toed out of along the way. "And the doctors only agreed to release you if you promised to rest."

"Don't know how they think I'm supposed to rest with you waking me up every two hours," Jack complained, dropping onto the couch with a huff.

"Concussion watch," Mac explained, not for the first time since Jack had been discharged from Phoenix Med that night. Well, Mac supposed it was technically morning by the time they made it home. "A cognitive check every two to three hours is standard protocol. And you agreed to it. Go crawl in bed, I'll take a shower and set an alarm."

"Ain't movin'," Jack decided, looping an arm behind his head and adjusting one of the throw pillows on the couch as he laid down. "Passin' out right here, thank you very much."

"Jack-" Mac tried again, but Jack wasn't having it.

"You wanna move me? Be my guest. Lift with your knees, and all that. But I'm here, I'm comfy, and I just about almost have my brain convinced to stop trying to hammer its way outta my skull. Not moving."

Mac had to admit, he did look comfy. Tension lines not quite gone but eased up significantly from the ride home and under the harsh lights of Phoenix Med. The bruise on the back of his head from the butt of a gun wasn't visible through his hair and f Mac hadn't known better, he wouldn't have thought there was anything wrong with his partner other than typical post-mission exhaustion. 

"Okay, so the headache has eased up some. That's great. But you're neck is going to be killing you when you wake up if you stay here on the couch." 

"My neck has survived so many nights on this couch, I don't think one more's gonna do it in," Jack argued, clearly not willing to give in. "Go on to bed, I'll be here." 

"You're really gonna fight me on this?" Mac asked with a sigh. 

"Yup. Now, be quiet," Jack closed his eyes, already closer to being asleep than he was awake. "I'm tryin' to sleep here."

If he was going to be that stubborn, Mac wasn't going to fight him on it. "Fine. "It's your call. G'night." 

He was asleep before Mac made it out of the room.

It felt like no time at all had passed when Mac's alarm pulled him from his slumber. He rubbed at his eyes as he made the way down the hall. "Jack?" He called once he reached the living room, flipping on a single lamp to cut through the darkness. "Sorry, man. Gotta wake up and talk to me for a few minutes."

There was no answer from the sleeping lump that was Jack on the couch, he didn't even stir. "Jack?" Mac tried again, sitting down on the coffee table and reaching over to shake Jack's shoulder. "Wake up." 

Nothing.

"C'mon," Mac sighed. "I know you're tired, I am too. Let's get this over with so we can both go back to sleep."

He still didn't move. 

"Alright," Mac warned. "You asked for it." He reached out, knuckles harshly rubbing against Jack's sternum, a sure-fire wake up call. It hurt, Mac knew from experience, and he was fully expecting Jack to jolt awake after only a few passes up and down his chest, but it still came as a surprise when Jack's arm snapped up, quick as lightning, fingers latched around Mac's offending hand. 

"If that leaves a bruise you're gonna regret it," Jack grumbled, cracking one eye open to glare at Mac. "There's no way it's been two hours."

"Sorry, but yeah," Mac pulled his hand back. "Talk to me for a few minutes and you can go back to sleep."

Jack began answering questions before Mac had a chance to ask them. "Concussion watch. Some goon who never should'a had a gun to begin with konked me over the head with it. You're Mac. I'm on your couch, in your house in LA, and it's… aw hell, I don't know. Some day near the end of October, not sure if it's tomorrow yet or not. Anything else you wanna know or can I go back to sleep?"

Mac hesitated for a moment, considering. He was cranky and obviously still hurting, but aware enough that Mac wasn't worried. "Middle name?"

"Mine or yours?"

"Yours."

"Middle name's Wyatt," Jack answered around a jaw-cracking yawn. "Pops picked it out. One time when you were drugged to the gills you told me if you ever had a kid you were gonna pass the name down to him. Said Wyatt MacGyver had a good ring to it. Don't expect you to follow through with it, if there's ever some baby Macs runnin' 'round, but it was still nice to hear."

He looked over at Mac, who had an embarrassed blush creeping down his neck, visible even in the dim lamplight. "You ready for me to shut up now or should I keep going? Cause you get real chatty sometimes when you're too doped up to remember. I've got plenty stories if you're still not sure if my brain's firin' on all cylinders."

"No," Mac shook his head. "No, I think you're fine." 

"So I can go back to sleep now?" 

Mac smiled. "Yeah, go back to sleep. 

Jack rolled over to his side, hissing in pain as the move pressed against the bump on the back of his head. 

"You want an ice pack or anything before I go?" Mac offered gently. He had technically completed the required task and was done for a couple of hours, but it was still bothering him that Jack was hurting and too stubborn to even sleep it off in an actual bed. 

"No. Hush up, I'm sleepin'." 

"Okay," Mac agreed, holding up both hands in surrender as he slowly shuffled back to his room. "Fine. Just, yell if you need me. See you in two hours." 

As much as Jack wanted to drop immediately back off to sleep, he couldn't. Not when he knew he was the reason for his kid's dejected tone. And as annoying as it was, Mac really was only trying to help. And Jack had agreed to let him help when he was released from the hospital. "Hey, Mac?" He called, knowing he hadn't made it too far out of the living room. 

"Yeah?" Mac was back at the couch in the blink of an eye and Jack knew he had made the right call. 

"Can you get me another blanket or somethin'?" Jack asked, pushing the throw from the back of the couch off his arms. "This one's kinda scratchy." 

It was a pointless request, and they both knew it. That blanket was perfectly comfortable and had gotten the both of them through countless nights camped out on the couch, but it gave Mac something to do. A simple task that would make him feel as though he was actually helping Jack instead of just annoying him. And maybe, just maybe, if he let Mac think he was helping him by doing other things, he wouldn't think the annoying wake-up calls were so important. 

Mac happily jumped into action, returning with a different blanket from the linen closet, shaking it out of its neat folds as he returned to the living room. 

"That better?" He asked as he draped it across Jack's chest. 

"Yeah, thanks kid," Jack burrowed further into the couch, plan in action, guilt abated. " 's great." 

"Okay, get some rest," Mac dropped his hand onto Jack's shoulder for a minute before retreating back to his own bed. "Jack?" He asked, turning on his heel from the kitchen.

"Yeah?" 

"I know what you did there, with the whole blanket thing," Mac grinned. "And nice try. But I'm still waking you up in two hours." 

"Damn it," Jack muttered, pulling the blanket over his head in an attempt to drown out Mac's light laughter coming from down the hall.


	26. If You Thought The Head Trauma Was Bad

Jack groaned before he even opened his eyes, the pounding in his head starting up, hovering on just this side of unbearable, as soon as he regained even a sliver of consciousness.

"Shhh," A familiar voice hushed from somewhere above him, shifting pressure on the source of the pain and once Jack noticed it, it only made it hurt worse. "I know you're hurting but you have to be quiet," Mac whispered. "I'm not completely sure they all left."

"Who?" Jack croaked out, picking up on the trace of nervousness in Mac's voice, even through his pain.

"The guys who hit you in the head with a crowbar," Mac answered with a fond smile and a shake of his head. "I modified a welding torch, kinda turned it into a flame thrower?" The admission lilted up at the end, almost like a question and Jack would have laughed if he wasn't too busy worrying that his head was splitting in two. "Scared them off and got us into an out of the way little corner room to hide out until backup gets here, but I'd rather not draw them right back to us."

"Backup?" Jack frowned at that, which only made his pain worse and, judging by the sigh Mac let slip and the added pressure to the side of his forehead, made the gash start bleeding worse.

"Yeah, it's not just you and me on this one," Mac reminded him gently, the concern of possible memory issues leaking into his voice. "Remember? Matty sent all of us out. Desi, Riles, Bozer, the whole team's here. They're on their way, we just gotta lay low till then."

"Good," Jack huffed out the word, afraid that if he opened his mouth much he would instantly lose the battle he was fighting of keeping the contents of his stomach where they belonged. "Des'll cover us."

"We're gonna be fine," Mac nodded as he began combing through Jack's hair with the hand that wasn't pressing his torn-off shirt sleeve to the bleeding wound on his partner's temple. "Get you out of here and all patched up."

"I'm all for that, long as it's somewhere dark and quiet," Jack leaned into Mac's hand, openly willing to seek out comfort knowing that he could blame it on the head injury if it was ever mentioned later. "Hurts."

"Yeah, I bet it does," Mac agreed sympathetically. "He hit you hard," Mac was going to have the image of Jack dropping to the floor, unconscious before he ever hit the ground, playing on a loop in his mind for days. He watched from across the floor of what was supposed to be a woodworking shop that had been turned into an illegal ammunition factory, caught up in defending himself in his own fight with two of the men they had snuck up on, as Jack went down in the middle of his one-to-three fight. Mac hadn't even had time to yell out a warning, barely seeing as he dodged hits and swung his own, as one of the men Jack had taken his eye off of grabbed a crowbar from the top of a pile of shipping crates and swung it at his partner's head as soon as his face was turned towards him.

"Didn't even see it comin'," Jack muttered, trying to press away from the hand Mac was using to staunch the bleeding without displacing the one offering comfort. He wasn't successful, not that he was actually putting up much of a fight, but he did shift enough to feel the rough press of denim beneath his cheek and realized he was laying with his head in Mac's lap.

"Trust me, it wasn't something you wanted to see," Mac assured.

"What'd he even hit me with, anyway?"

"Crowbar," Mac repeated, dropping his voice low in hopes of reminding Jack that they were supposed to be keeping quiet, ignoring the pang of worry that sparked in his chest at being asked a question he had answered only moments earlier. "So you've got every right to be feeling as miserable as I'm sure you are."

He was expecting a hurried assurance from Jack, promising that he was fine even if he wasn't anywhere close to actually feeling it. Instead, he got a grumbled "How bad s'it?" as Jack blinked his eyes open for a fraction of a second before squeezing them closed again.

"Head wounds bleed a lot, you know that," Mac reminded him, hoping that Jack did, actually, still know that common fact. "And I wasn't kidding, he really did hit you hard. Pretty sure I felt it from all the way across the room," He teased, gently peeling back the corner of the sodden shirt sleeve, checking to see if the gash was still bleeding. "Probably gonna need a few stitches when we get home, but you'll be alright."

"Hurts," Jack muttered in answer, fluttering unfocused eyes open again, just long enough to squint up at Mac worriedly through the pain. "You good?"

"I'm good," Mac promised with a smile.

"How many concussions you think this one racked up?" Jack asked. "Hit that hard, had to be worth more than just one, right? Gotta be a solid two, maybe even three, wouldn't you say?"

"That's... yeah, no, Jack that's not anywhere close to how concussions work..." He let his words trail off when he noticed the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of Jack's mouth. "But you know that."

"Guilty," Jack admitted, not bothering to hide his grin once Mac had him figured out. "Just had to get you outta that head of yours. You were lookin' a little worried, hoss."

"Of course I'm worried," Mac huffed, hoping the frustrated whispers would hide the relief in his voice. "You're laying here in my lap bleeding out from a head wound, talking crazier than usual. I think that gives me a right to be concerned. Don't scare me like that."

"You scare me all the time, kid," Jack reminded him, settling back into the pillow that was Mac's leg and keeping an ear tuned towards the world outside the closed door of their little hiding spot, listening for threats he would need to handle despite the pounding in his head or, ideally, the sounds of the rest of their team. "Can't blame me for givin' you a little taste of your own medicine every once in a while."

"The only difference being that I don't scare you on purpose," Mac shook his head fondly.

"Watch me jump off this building with a hang-glider made out of newspaper and chewing gum, Jack," Jack twisted his voice into a deep imitation of Mac's own. "Naw, that ain't scary at all."

"You know how I feel about heights," Mac laughed. "Even if I ever did that, which I haven't, there's no way chewing gum would be adhesive enough to hold up against the wind strength from jumping off a building, even if the newspaper could, I would have been way more scared than you."

"You'd be wrong about that, genius," Jack protested. "I worry 'bout you. Constantly. And it only gets worse when you do somethin' crazy."

"Does getting hit in the head with a crowbar count? Cause if it does, I know how you feel."

" 'M sorry I scared you," Jack offered, all seriousness, the teasing draining from his tone as he recognized the deflection and humor for what it was, reaching out blindly and patting Mac's knee. "But I'm glad he came after me 'stead of you."

"I would have preferred it if it had been neither of us," Mac joked, relaxing some now that he knew, for the most part, Jack really was fine. "But when have we ever gotten that lucky?"

"I don't know," Jack shrugged, his shoulder not moving much, laying in Mac's lap, but he was too comfortable to think about moving. "Got you as a partner. If that ain't luck I don't know what is."


	27. Who Had Natural Disaster On Their 2020 Bingo Card?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the mission-gone-wrong started in Mac's chapter for today!

Wherever Jack was when he woke up, it most certainly was not his bed. 

That was the first thought that crossed his mind as he pried gritty eyelids open to try and get a look at his surroundings. It was dark enough to be his bedroom though, with the blackout curtains drawn, but it was obviously rock, or ground of some sort at least, that he was laying on instead of his ridiculously expensive mattress. "Mac?" He called, the single syllable ending in a coughing fit as the layer of dust and dirt coating his throat made itself known. "Mac? Where you at, bud?" Whatever had happened, something was wrong. And when he found himself in trouble-as much as he hated it-his kid was never too far away. 

Silence. 

No, not quite, he corrected himself. It wasn't completely quiet, he could still hear his own voice echoing around him, though it was muffled by the ringing in his ears. Which was odd. There wouldn't be an echo unless he was... underground. It all came back to him in flashes, the mission, the bomb, the gunman, and Mac's warning. The grand finale to the slideshow was the memory of the cave roof coming crashing down between the two of them. 

"Mac!" He screamed, louder this time now that he knew what had happened, his worry multiplied tenfold. Still no answer. 

Jack hastily sat up, the need to find and check on his kid overriding everything else in his mind, ignoring the way the world, which was nothing more than an endless dark mass of worry, wavering around him. That, he could overlook. The blinding pain that shot through his right leg as he tried to move it, however, he could not. It took all he had to remain conscious and upright, biting his lip until he tasted blood as he yelled, thinking that at least there was a chance of Mac being able to hear it, but there was still no answer. 

He couldn't tell for sure, what little ambient light had filtered in through the cave system had been effectively blocked off and his flashlight must have gotten lost in the collapse because he didn't feel it within his reach, but from what he could tell, part of the rocks that had fallen had landed on his leg. 

"Mac," He muttered, more to himself than to the partner that couldn't hear him, "Wherever you're at, hoss, I really hope you're okay. Cause I might need some help gettin' myself outta this one." 

He still had his gun, which was always a positive in his book, not that it would do him much good alone, hurt and trapped in a cave, but it made him feel a little bit better reattaching the sturdy weight of it to the holster on his chest. Both hands free, he patted down his pockets until he found the one with his cell phone. "C'mon, c'mon," he muttered, wincing at the harsh light emitting from it once it turned on. "Damn it!" If it hadn't been his only reliable source of light he would have thrown it across the cavern when he saw that he had no signal. It did however, give him an unpleasantly clear view of the rocks piled on his leg.

No mobility, no phone, no partner. It wasn't an encouraging trifecta. He was about to fall into a discouraged spiral inching very near to panic before he noticed the heft of the comms unit still snugly in place in his ear. He and Mac hadn't had to use them on the op since they hadn't needed to split up, but had them in place just in case since they were dubious of the cell reception they would have underground. He hastily pressed at the buttons, praying to hear the sudden crackle of static that usually annoyed him to no end. 

"Mac?" He called once it clicked on, hoping that Mac had reached the same realization he had and his unit was already on as well. "Mac, you hear me? Please tell me you're okay?" 

There was a moment of pause that couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds but to Jack, it felt like an eternity. Eventually, Mac's voice broke through the static. Tinny and not as clear as he would have hope, but his just the same and Jack found himself suddenly grateful that he wasn't able to stand just yet because his knees surely would have buckled in relief. "Jack?" 

"Hey, kiddo," Jack grinned. "Talk to me. You good?" 

"I," a breath that rattled in Jack's ear while Mac thought of the best way to word his answer. "Yeah, I-I guess." 

"You sound a little rattled, but I guess survivin' a cave-in will do that to a guy," Jack forced a smile. "How's that arm?" He asked, memories of Mac's broken arm adding themselves to his flashbacks. 

"Hurts," Mac admitted. "But I'm fine. How are you?" 

"Alive and kickin'," Jack confirmed, hedging around putting his current predicament in words. "Not kickin' too high with one leg through, seein' as how there's a big ol' hunk of rock crushin' it." 

"Seriously, you couldn't have lead with that little piece of info?" Mac asked and Jack didn't need a visual to see the huff of exasperation leaving his mouth without any issue. "How bad?" 

"I'm good and stuck," Jack admitted. "Tried to move and it hurts somethin' awful." 

"Don't move then," Mac scolded and there was a shuffle on his end of the connection, rattling through the earpieces. "I'm coming to you." 

"How you gonna get through this whole mess between us?" Jack asked, forehead drawing into a frown and he experimentally shifted his leg, thinking that maybe it wasn't as bad as he first thought. It was. 

"Don't worry about it," Mac muttered in that voice he used when he was elbows-deep in a project that required his full attention. "I'll get you out." 

"Now don't go hurting yourself," Jack warned, hating the idea of Mac with an already broken arm lugging rock after rock out of the pile just so he could reach Jack. "I'm not all that sure what our play is gonna be even if you can get over here." 

"We'll figure it out when I get there," Mac assured him, still not willing to listen to Jack's side of the argument. 

Jack might have let him get away with it too, he was just as desperate to lay eyes on his partner as Mac was if Mac hadn't attempted to lift a particularly heavy rock that required both arms and couldn't mask the whimper that broke free at the pain using that arm caused. 

"Mac, so help me, I'm about to crawl my way through these rocks myself if you don't stop and sit yourself back down," Jack warned. It was a testament to just how much Mac was hurting that he obeyed. "Don't-" he was practically panting, gasping for each breath. "Don't move. You'll hurt yourself worse." 

"I won't if you won't," Jack replied without thinking and then had to backtrack. "Actually, you know what, hoss? I take that back. Why don't you move? Get on out of here and get that arm taken care of. Send help back for me once you're safe." 

"I'm not leaving you." 

"No," Jack agreed, well-practiced in trying his best to out-logic Mac's arguments. "You're not. Ain't leavin' me. You're going to go get help. Totally different." 

"Would you leave me?" Mac asked. "If you were on this side and I was over there?" 

As good as Jack was at arguing with Mac, Mac was even better. 

"No," Jack admitted with a sigh. "No, I wouldn't. Any chance I can talk you into headin' out to the mouth of this underground maze we're in? Sendin' up the Bat-Signal and lettin' help know where we're at? And then you could come right back here. That's totally not leaving." 

"Just because that plan involves me coming back, doesn't mean it doesn't also involve me leaving. And I'm not doing it. You're hurt, I'm not leaving you." 

Later, when it was all said and done and they were safe and sound back in LA, each rocking a fresh plaster cast while they sat around Mac's firepit and told the tale of their latest adventure, they would both try their best to skip over the embarrassment of neither of them noticing that they were no longer the only two on their comm line. At the very least, they would blame it on the fuzzy connection, though nobody would let them live it down for a long time. 

"If you two would cool it with the melodramatics," Matty's voice cut through their arguing, causing them both to jump. "I might get a chance to get a word in and let you know that help is already headed your way." 

"Matty?"

"Matty?" 

Their voices mingled together, an almost comical parody of the echoes that had been ringing through the cave throughout their mission. 

"I missed the first part of your talk," She continued. "But I’m guessing since it’s the two of you you're both hurt?" 

"Mac let some goon you didn’t warn us about break his arm," Jack supplied at the same time Mac answered with "Jack's leg is buried beneath a rockslide." 

"A double medevac is headed your way," She assured. "And don't bother trying to tell me you only need the one, you're both getting checked out so I don't have to hear the other one griping about it. You two sure you'll be alright until they get there?" 

"Mac?"

"I'm good as long as you are." 

"Yeah, we'll be alright, Matty," Jack decided, allowing himself to relax, just a little. "Thanks." 

"I'm going to go offline, see if I can get someone from tech to step in and clear up your connection so you can hear each other a little better," She said. "I'll check back in with an update in twenty minutes." 

"Copy that," Jack nodded, smiling a little at the sigh of relief he could hear ringing through the line from Mac's end. "We'll be here." 

It was far from being the way a mission had ever ended, but it wasn't the worst either and Jack drew some comfort from that fact. Not as much comfort, though, as he drew from the knowledge that though they were both in pain and more than a little freaked out, Mac was where he belonged, right beside him. Admittedly, there was a several-feet-wide pile of crumbled boulders between them, but he was still there, beside Jack, where he belonged. It wasn't perfect, but it was what they had and they were going to make the most of it. After so many years as partners, they were pretty good at that.


	28. Such Wow, Many Normal, Very Oops

"Alright, if you want me to do this you've got to stop squirming." 

Jack huffed an annoyed breath, raising and lowering the resisting hand Mac had on his shoulder. "I don't want you to, that's the problem. I hate this part." 

"I know," Mac answered, taking advantage of their talking to try and keep Jack distracted while he slid the tiny blade of the scissors in his hand beneath the next stitch in line across Jack's shoulder blade. "You always throw the biggest fit about having to get them taken out." 

"I still say we should just leave 'em in there," Jack muttered, instinctively jerking away from the cold scissors as they snipped through another stitch. "Added protection for next time." 

"That's not how it works and you know it," Mac couldn't help but smile. "I don't get it, dude. You of all people, as much as you hate needles, can sit through being stitched up without a problem. Don't even flinch. Half the time you won't even let them numb it before they start so you can hurry up and get out of Medical. But when comes time to take them out, you are such a baby about it." 

"Ain't a baby, it just feels so gross," Jack whined, fist gripping tightly to one of the rungs on the back of the chair he was sitting backward in, trying to keep his arm still while Mac worked. Despite his attempt at taking a page out of Jack's book of tricks and trying to distract by talking, Jack was still tense. "They've been in there for a couple of weeks. Feels like they belong by now. Don't even notice that they're there. And then you go yankin' them out." Jack shuddered. "I hate it. So much." 

"Which is why you always throw a huge fit every time it has to happen," Mac kept going, snipping through another stitch. "And try your best to avoid it, even when you know they have to come out at some point." 

"Don't know why they don't use those dissolvable ones everywhere," Jack complained. "Then we don't have to worry about it." 

"Well, sorry the hospital that stitched you up this time didn't have those. It's better than dental floss, at least. We've been there a time or two." 

"You almost done yet?" 

Mac bit his lip, carefully sliding the tiny blades in his hand beneath the final stitch still intact. "Last one." 

"Don't go makin' it sound like we're almost done," Jack sighed, folding his arms along the back of the chair and resting his head on them. "You haven't even started the bad part yet." 

"If you would sit still and let me get this over with instead of trying to guilt-trip me into stopping halfway through, we'd already be done by now," Mac pointed out, dropping the scissors onto the counter beside him to be cleaned before he stashed them back away in the medkit for next time and picking up the tweezers he had laid out and waiting. "Last chance to go in and let a professional do this instead of me," He offered. 

"Just do it," Jack groaned, bracing himself as he turned his head and buried his face in his arms, hiding from the seemingly terrible pain Mac was about to inflict. 

Mac knew it wasn't fun, but it was far from as miserable of a sensation Jack always made it out to be every time he had to have stitches removed. It didn't ease the guilt churning in his stomach as he pulled at the first stitch and Jack jolted beneath his hands. "Okay, seriously, it doesn't hurt that bad. Chill out." 

"Didn't say it hurts, said I hate it," Jack muttered. "I know it's stupid, just get it over with." 

"Yeah, but it's making me feel bad," Mac kept talking, knowing that the admission was a sure-fire way to pull Jack out of his own head and back into worrying about his partner. "Even though I've been through this enough times to know it isn't nearly as bad as you're acting like it is." 

"It's the whole creepy-crawly, heebie-jeebie, vibe of having something pulled outta your skin that isn't supposed to be there in the first place," Jack explained as Mac kept working, methodically moving down the line of severed stitches, revealing the raised, pink, line of freshly mended skin beneath. "I don't even know how to explain it, all I know is I hate it. You not done?"

"Almost," Mac took a calculated risk since it had been a few minutes since Jack had flinched hard enough that the resisting hand he had on his shoulder had been needed to keep him in place, and moved it, just slightly, thumb soothing over the base of Jack's neck. He didn't know if it would actually help or not, of the two of them Jack was always the one who was better at offering comfort, be it through touch or words or even just his calming presence, but Mac had picked up a thing or two over the years and if all else failed, he turned the tables and relied on offering up what he knew worked for himself. And even if it didn't help, it would at least be a different sensation for Jack to focus on that would make the next few stitches, hopefully, a little easier. "There's still a few left." 

"Get on with it, then." 

"This might be easier if you let someone who actually knows what they're doing take these out instead of having me saw hack through them," Mac suggested, ignoring the slight shudder of Jack's skin beneath him as he pulled another stitch loose. "You ever think of that? I'm not exactly an expert. Or, you know, trained. Like, at all." 

"Nope," Jack shook his head. "I trust you. 'Sides, you're an expert at wranglin' me after all these years, and that's really all this one boils down to needin'." 

It would have taken a man stronger than Mac to begin to unpack all the weight that simple statement packed, so all Mac did was smile, tugging the final strand of black from Jack's skin, relieved to finally be able to say "That was the last one. We're done, man." 

"Yeah?" His Jack's head raised hopefully. 

"Yeah," Mac confirmed. 

"Sweet," Jack grinned, all traces of the stress from only moments earlier long gone as he climbed out of the chair with a grin, clapping Mac on the shoulder in thanks as he headed towards the kitchen, sights set on the leftovers from Bozer's latest feast. "You hungry? I'm hungry." 

"Help yourself," Mac laughed as he began cleaning up after their improvised medical follow-up. Life was Jack as a partner was never boring, but Mac wouldn't have it any other way.


	29. I Think I Need A Doctor

"Hey," Mac looked up from the paperclip he had been halfheartedly twisting as the door to the War Room opened and Jack walked through, heading straight for the other side of the couch Mac was sitting on. "Finally done?"

"Yeah, finally," Jack nodded, dropping into the seat with a groan and letting his head fall back to rest against the cool leather behind him. They had just returned from a mission, one that had ended up running days longer than it should have, and were all exhausted. "I hate debriefs like this, man. If they want us to stick around here and rehash every second of us doin' our jobs, separately, at that, they should at least have the decency to let us go home and get a couple hours of sleep first."

"You're a little grouchier than usual," Mac looked across the sofa, balancing his paperclip creation on his knee as he turned all his attention to his partner. "I get that you're tired, we're all tired, but you slept most of the plane ride back. You sure you're alright?"

"Fine," Jack assured, crossing his arms in defiance. "Just want them to finish up with Riley's report so we can get out of here."

"No," Mac frowned, replaying the memories of their latest mission, following an instinct that was telling him something was wrong. "No, this is something else."

"Said I'm fine," Jack insisted with a huff, pulling his jacket tighter around him and that was the final clue Mac needed because it was far from cold in the War Room. He had slipped his own jacket off and tossed it on the arm of the couch as soon as he walked in. There was no way Jack was cold unless...

"Are you sick?"

"What?" Jack shook his head, a little too shocked that Mac would draw such a conclusion for it to be believable. "No. I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Mac scooted across the sofa until he was next to Jack, trying not to take the way Jack leaned away from his presence too personally. "Look at me?"

Never one to be able to deny Mac anything, Jack turned towards him. "I'm fine," He insisted again, but the brightness of his eyes and the slight flush of his cheeks told another story.

"I can't believe you tried to hide this from me," Mac scolded, all the while silently berating himself for not noticing it sooner. "Come here,"

Jack let his eyes drop closed as Mac reached out a hand, cool skin coming to rest against the inflamed heat rising from his cheek, then his forehead, and back again.

"How long?" Mac asked and it was far enough away from the lecture Jack had been preparing himself for that he opened his eyes in surprise. "How long have you been hiding this?"

"Hadn't been feeling the best for a day or two," Jack admitted, knowing he was caught and there was no point in going through the effort of keeping up with the charade. "Nothing too bad so I didn't mention it. Thought I was just getting a little run down. We've been goin' pretty much nonstop for weeks now."

Mac nodded. It was true, they hadn't had more than a single full day off in nearly a month and it was starting to catch up with all of them. "But?"

"Yesterday," Jack continued. "Or, well, whatever day it would've been, I don't feel like figuring out all the time zones we've skipped through. "Actually ended up falling asleep when Bozer was on watch, even though I usually stay awake, just to be sure, you know?"

Mac smiled. He had learned early in their careers as clandestine agents that there was no point in arguing with Jack when it came to safety. He would go out of his way every time to make sure things were alright. 

"Felt awful when I woke up. Worse than just bein' worn out."

"And you decided to conveniently forget all the lectures you've given me over the years about not hiding stuff like this and just try and take care of it on your own?" Mac asked though he knew that was exactly what had happened.

"Matty had promised us a few days off after this one," Jack reminded him, pulling away from Mac's hand and falling back into the plush couch. He had already been made, there was no point in hiding how miserable he was feeling anymore. "Figured I'd let it run it's course and not have to worry you about it."

"I still don't see how I didn't notice," Mac's frown deepened.

"You didn't see it cause I didn't want you to," Jack assured. "I'm not as dumb as I let people think, kid, you know that. I've been takin' meds for it. Took a dose on the plane ride home, guess it's worn off by now."

"Okay," Mac agreed, stretching across the couch to grab his coat before standing up. "Let's go." 

"Home?" Jack asked hopefully.

"Upstairs," Mac corrected, reaching out a hand for Jack to pull himself up with. "To get you checked out, make sure this isn't something serious, and then home."

"Aw, c'mon Mac, I don't need to bother the docs up there," Jack protested. "I'm fine, it's just some little flu bug or somethin'."

“Yeah, well I might believe that shady self-diagnosis if you had been upfront about it to begin with,” Mac said with a pointed look. “And you’ve got this weird rule about never leaving until everyone else gets to go home too, and we’re waiting on Riley. So we’re gonna go get you checked out, maybe some actual medicine, and then by the time that’s done we can all head home.”

“I’ve got a comfy blanket and a bottle of Nyquil waiting on me at home though,” Jack argued, getting a grip on Mac’s hand and preparing for the spinning rush that he knew would come from standing. “So I really think we can skip this part.”

“You wouldn’t let me,” Mac reminded, tugging Jack to his feet and bracing his free hand against Jack’s arm when he stood up and began swaying, just as Jack had done for him countless times over the years. He let his voice drop into a clichéd imitation of Jack's southern twang. "You're gettin' your ass upstairs and letting someone who actually knows what they're talkin' 'bout make sure you're okay, then we can bounce."

"I don't sound like that," Jack protested, ducking his head to hide a grin. He knew good and well that his accent became more prominent when he was tired or hurting and right now he was feeling both.

"You do," Mac assured, gently pushing Jack's shoulder until he headed towards the door. "Maybe a touch more overprotective, though. I don't quite have the whole hovering, dramatic, worrying thing down yet."

"Sure seems like you do from my end of things, dragging me to Medical for a dumb little cold." Jack's nose twitched as he held back a sneeze, knowing it would undo any progress he had made towards convincing Mac to let him go home.

"You're running a fever, big guy," Mac reached over to check, the back of his hand resting against Jack's forehead for a moment, blessedly cool and Jack had to focus to keep his feet moving and prevent himself from giving in to the comforting touch. "We aren't gonna screw around with that."

"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya," Jack grumbled, swatting Mac's hand away regardless of how nice it felt. He had an image to uphold, fever or not.

The rest of the trek to Phoenix Med was silent until they made it to the double doors of the entrance. "Hey, kid, I'm sorry," His voice stopped Mac, one hand on the door handle, and he turned back around, blue eyes meeting brown. "For fightin' you on this. And for hidin' it from you. I should know better than that by now. And I still say this is no big deal, just a cold I can sleep off, but you want me to get checked over, to make sure, so I'm gonna. Cause I know I'd make you, if the roles were reversed. You say I need to see a doctor, then I need to see a doctor."

"Thanks," Mac smiled to mask a relieved sigh. He wasn't expecting the fight to drain out of his partner so easily. "And for the record, since I know it's coming, you're probably right and this is nothing. But we're gonna make sure."

Jack nodded. "You better hope this is nothing," he warned, not too tired to joke. "Cause if it's not and I'm actually sick? Man, you're in for it. You think I'm grouchy now, just you wait.

It probably wasn't an exaggeration, Jack was nothing if not well known for his dramatic flair, but Mac wouldn't have it any other way.


	30. Now Where Did That Come From?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gave this one a final read through and I think the banter in this one might be my favorite of the whole month.

"I can't believe you didn't mention this," Mac scolded, the words punctuated by the sound of ripping fabric as he tore open the leg of his partner's pants. "Of all the things you complain about, you didn't think a bullet wound was worth mentioning?"

"I mentioned it as soon as you were done doin' your thing," Jack reminded him, leaning back in the chair Mac had pushed him into as soon as he noticed the bullet hole, perfectly relaxed as if he was lounging on a beach chair somewhere instead of bleeding out on a mission. "Made sure we got the job done first. Wasn't gonna distract you while you were workin'."

"You got shot," Mac sent him a pointed glare. "I think you could have spared a minute to let me know."

Hardly nothin'," Jack drawled. "Besides, not like I was tryin' for it. Don't remember painting a target on my handsome self before I left the house this morning."

"I think we got lucky," Mac admitted, setting back on his heels after examining the wound. "It went clear through. It's not bleeding enough to have hit an artery and you're not hurting enough for it to have hit bone."

"See, hardly nothin'," Jack repeated with a proud grin. "No field surgery, which always sucks, no waitin' around for weeks on a bone to heal. I'll be good as new in two, three days tops."

"I wouldn't go that far," Mac sighed, and there was enough anger burning behind the worry in his eyes that Jack was reminded that he wasn't done being yelled at just yet. "We've still got to make it back to exfil. Almost a mile. And we were already pressed for time without that leg slowing us down."

"Wrap it up and let's get goin' then," Jack instructed, waving Mac into motion. "I ain't slowin' us down, you're the one wasting time."

Mac rolled his eyes but moved to do just that, unbuttoning the bottom few buttons of the flannel shirt he was wearing in preparation to tear the hem off as a bandage before Jack stopped him. "Naw, use mine," Jack nodded towards his own sleeve before tearing it off unceremoniously. "Black. It won't look as obvious tied around my leg. Last thing we need is that bright blue pointin' out that we got into some kind of trouble. We are perfectly innocent tourists, after all." It was a logical choice, and his excuse wasn't a complete lie, but he also knew that the shirt Mac was wearing was one of the kid's favorites and he wasn't going to let him ruin it just for him. “Black hides the blood better.”

“Still not a good enough excuse for me not to notice you were hit,” Mac muttered under his breath, taking the offered strip of fabric and sliding it under Jack’s leg, lining it up as best he could with the exit wound at the back of his thigh. "I should have seen this.".

“You didn’t see it cause I didn’t want you to.”

Mac’s jaw twitched in anger as he glanced up at Jack. “This might hurt,” He warned, sarcasm dripping from each word as he pulled the improvised bandage tight, tying it off and ignoring the yelp Jack didn’t have time to choke back.

“Guess I deserved that,” Jack panted, hands digging into the armrests of his chair as he tried to get control of the pain. “You mad enough you’re not gonna help me outta here? Make me limp back to the plane on my own?”

“No,” Mac sighed, wiping the blood off his hands, disguising it into the dark denim of his own jeans before standing up and offering a steady hand out to his partner. “I just wish you’d tell me these things when they happen.”

“And I wish you’d never get hurt,” Jack countered as he pulled himself up, swaying for only a moment as he tested how much weight was safe to put on his injured leg. “But that ain’t gonna happen so I guess we’ll both have to be left disappointed on this one.”

“Is that going to hold you up?” Mac asked, sending a worried frown towards Jack’s leg, boot hovering just above the ground as he leaned on Mac’s shoulder for balance.

“It’ll have to,” Jack nodded, determined. “Couple’a tourists, headed back to their motel after a few too many shots, a little limping’s believable. Addin’ to the authenticity, and all that.”

“Wrong kind of shot,” Mac snorted a laugh, supporting Jack as much as he could as they made their way out of the building.

“True, true. They don’t need to know that though,” Jack dropped his voice as they shuffled past a pair of locals on the dusty street. “Why they always gotta go for the leg, huh? Hella inconvenient.”

“I think that’s kinda the point,” Mac smiled. “You know, to keep you from being able to run away? That’s been my experience, at least.”

"One time. He takes a bullet to the leg one time and the kid thinks he's an expert," Jack shook his head morosely. "Actually, you know what? If you think about it, you always refused to go and get kickass matching tattoos with me. Now we'll have matching scars. And that's kinda the same. Way cooler, actually."

"Wrong leg," Mac answered automatically, ignoring the twinge of pain that sparked in his own leg at the mention of his previous injury. "My scar on that one is from the scissors during the whole nerve gas incident. Bullet was the other leg."

"Oh. Damn. Well, never mind." Jack frowned, disappointed. "That ain't happening. I'll get shot sure, that's nothing, happens all the time. Ain't stabbing myself with scissors though, that's just stupid."

"Are you-" Mac stopped, halting their progress in the middle of the street. "Do you hear yourself when you talk?"

"Yup. Got a real nice voice, don't I?" Jack smirked, raising an eyebrow. "And it does the job. Gets you thinkin' bout something other than how mad you are at me." 

Mac shook his head, biting his lip to keep a smile of his own from breaking out as he ducked back under Jack's arm and started back their trek to exfil. "I'm not mad. I just don't appreciate the hypocrisy of you freaking out when I don't tell you every time I get a papercut but you can try and hide a bullet wound from me." 

"Don't know what the hell hippos got to do with this," Jack scoffed, unable to keep from dropping one final joke, even if it was a lame one, before turning serious. "I wasn't hidin' it. I was gonna tell you. Really. Just needed to make sure you were good first. I wasn't gonna be takin' your attention away from something that actually mattered." 

"You matter." Mac insisted, turning them suddenly, pointing at the store window of the closest shop, as a pair of locals spent a little too long watching them from across the street. "Always."

"And if it was somethin' real serious I would have told you sooner," Jack promised, nodding along as Mac motioned back down the road. To anyone who saw them, as long as they didn't look close enough to see the bloody bandage wrapped tightly around Jack's leg, they were a couple of hungover tourists arguing about the best place to pick up some authentic souvenirs before they headed home, not highly trained operatives, one of whom was injured, trying to blend in on unfriendly soil. "This isn't one we're ever gonna agree on, cause I don't think I did anything wrong. When you finally get around to buildin' us a time machine? You can take it right back to this moment and you know what I'd do? The same damn thing. Every time. Now we gonna stand here arguin' about it or are you gonna help me get back to that plane?" 

The promise of getting to safety, and getting one step closer to Jack receiving actual medical care, was one Mac wasn't willing to pass up, just as Jack had known it would be. He fell into step beside the younger man, arm thrown around his shoulders as Mac started back down the road, trying his best to keep as much of his weight as he could on his uninjured leg without making his limp incredibly obvious. "I know it upsets you, and I get why, but I ain't gonna stop. Cause my job is to keep you safe. And if you're worrying about me? You're not safe. At least, not as safe as you could be. So if you wanna play medic and patch me up or whatever once the gig's over and we're on our way home? Fine. Have at it. You know where Phoenix keeps the med kits. But unless it's something that's gonna keep me from being able to do my job and protect you? I'll keep quiet about it until we're done. Cause I don't matter, kid." 

"You matter to me," Mac huffed, pulling on Jack's arm until he relented and shifted some of his weight, letting Mac do a little more of the work of keeping him upright. "And I'd rather be distracted by an actual problem, one that I can usually fix, if you would just tell me what's wrong, instead of constantly worrying that you're hiding something from me." 

That reasoning was enough to short-circuit Jack's train of thought for a moment. "Now how am I supposed to keep defending my point when you go and out-logic me like that? That's not fair." 

"Which is the entire point of an argument. You willing to concede that I'm right, now?" 

"How 'bout I just say I'll try and remember this little talk the next time I think about not tellin' you I got shot, okay? That work for you?" 

"Not really, no," Mac blew out a frustrated breath of air that pushed his hair out of his eyes. "But it's a start."


	31. Today's Special:  Torture!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler Alert! Would it really be Halloween without some new Harper Hayes content?! If you haven't read any of my Harper fics yet, you might want to do that, or at least the final chapter of last year's Whumptober fics, before starting this one. That being said, welcome to the final chapter!

His kids liked to give Jack a hard time about the annual membership he held at the little chain of massage parlors downtown. There was no shortage of jokes about happy endings, and once those jokes burnt out there were always lighthearted jabs about his age catching up with him, leaving him aching and sore. 

He went along with the jokes because he didn't want any of them to know just how bad he hurt sometimes. 

He wasn't getting any younger, as much as he hated to admit it, and between all the injuries he had sustained over the years and the physically demanding missions he still went on every few days, there were mornings when rolling himself out of bed was a job in itself. And joke or not, nothing helped as much as a massage. Not the chiropractor Phoenix Med kept on staff or the acupuncturist Riley swore by or Bozer's yoga class or the legions of physical therapy experts Matty kept discretely sending his way when she noticed he was having a rough day. It had taken a while, but he had finally tracked down the best of the best in all of LA and was more than happy to give them a portion of his hard-earned paycheck if they kept him feeling well enough to keep earning them. 

A single business with a trio of little shops spread across the city had eased his qualms about security hazards and the consistent set of employees who rotated between each branch had given him enough peace of mind to actually relax while he was there. Not that he hadn't run extensive background searches on each and every one of them before even considering walking into the first building. They were never too busy, always willing to fit him in, even without as much as him giving them a call in advance that he was on his way, and he always made sure to stagger his visits in an untraceable pattern of regular irregularity. He took every precaution and then some, but it was worth every minute spent to be able to walk out of the nondescript little building without having to mask a limp or feeling like someone was stabbing him in the spine with every step.

His kids could make all the jokes they wanted. It was worth it to buy him a little more time of getting to watch their backs and keep them safe. 

"Mornin' Amy," He called to the receptionist as he walked through the door, the chime overhead letting out a melodic chime instead of a bell signaling a customer had walked through the door. 

"Hi Jack," She smiled, the phone she was dialing in her hand forgotten as she greeted him. "That back of yours giving you fits again?" 

"Nah," He grinned, rolling his shoulder with a dramatic wince. "Did something to this shoulder. Again. Y'all got a quick half hour or so to fit me in? Pretty please?" 

"Saving a damsel in distress? Stopping a runaway train? What was it this time?" 

"Ha," He forced a chuckle. He was always careful about his cover, but particularly there, where there was nobody from his actual life around to back his play. They never seemed to believe his life was as mundane as he continually insisted. It made him nervous even though he knew there was no way she realized just how close to the truth she was. There had, in fact, been a train, though it wasn't a runaway. Not this time. And a German ambassador's daughter who was easy enough on the eyes but seemed to only have eyes for Riley. "Naw, helpin' a buddy of mine do some work on his deck. Guess that nail gun and haulin' all that lumber got the best of me." 

"Have a seat," She smiled, nodding towards the cozy little waiting area tucked away in the corner. "You know we'll always make time for you." 

He had just decided that he needed to ask whoever had designed the parlor where they purchased the waiting room chairs from, since they were easily the most comfortable he had ever sat in-and it spent far too large a portion of his life in waiting rooms- when Amy called his name again. "Door three, Jack," she smiled, nodding towards the hallway. "Kat's ready for you." 

Jack ran through the information he had gathered on the familiar name. Early thirties, big family back in Portland, had gotten married a little under two years ago, husband was a Marine. It wasn't a branch of the military that had his loyalty, but they had his respect. And she was one of his favorites because she had experience dealing with PTSD. He didn't have to worry about keeping his guard up as much when she was working on him to keep from slipping into a flashback because she knew the signs. She also was quiet, content to let the session pass in amicable silence if Jack needed some time to wind down and think, to process a mission gone bad, but she was just as good when he was feeling particularly chatty, not interrupting, letting him fill the space with his voice. 

She wasn't in the room when he entered, but that wasn't unusual enough to warrant concern. It had the added bonus of giving him a chance to clear the room and check for threats. Lifting the curtain hiding the legs of the massage table and peering beneath, testing the lock on the supply closet and finding it satisfactorily secure. He pulled his shirt off one-handed, a practiced move that didn't involve him having to move his aching shoulder, and tossed it onto the chair in the corner, face down on the table when she entered the room. 

"Mornin, Kat," He greeted her, lifting his good hand in a halfhearted wave. "Thanks for fittin' me in. Me and this damn shoulder of mine really appreciate it." 

The lights dimmed as Jack heard the familiar sound of a bottle of massage oil opening and Jack found himself already beginning to relax. "Right at it, huh?" He asked as warm hands landed at the small of his back, thumbs brushing against the waistband of the jeans he always refused to remove. He wasn't willing to let himself be that vulnerable, not in a location he couldn't entirely secure. "Damn, that feels good," He could already feel his eyes growing heavy as strong hands inched up the span of his back, spreading warm oil as they went, soothing over variously healed scars before stopping and focusing on the shoulder that was bothering him. 

He was always careful never to disclose too much information, no matter how relaxed and pliant he got, but he wasn't joking when he told people that his massage therapist was a good listener. And just because he couldn't tell her specifics about his week's events didn't mean that he couldn't pass the time complaining that his too-smart-for-his-own-good kid had gone and added a few more grey hairs to his collection by doing something reckless and how his boss was making him work the next day even though she knew good and well that Dallas was playing on home turf that day. 

As they always did, the session ended far too early for Jack's liking. But when he was walking in and expecting them to see him between scheduled appointments, he couldn't really complain about it. It had helped though, he could tell even before he tried to move. Tired muscles that had been stiff and aching when he walked through the door were warm and loose. 

"Thanks, darlin'," He drawled, accent more prominent than usual, as he listened to her begin repacking her things. "Amazin', as always." 

He was too blissed out to notice an unfamiliar lilt in her voice as she told him he could leave whenever he was ready. 

Stretching as he slowly pulled himself off the massage table, he gave his shoulder an experimental roll and sighed in relief at the significant improvement. It wasn't perfect, but as many times as he had pulled that shoulder in and out of its socket he couldn't expect it to not hurt some. It was better, and that would have to be good enough. 

He was glad there was nobody around to watch him drunkenly stumble across the room to retrieve his shirt, because he was half asleep and certainly not moving with his normal grace, every step sure and with purpose. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye though, as he went to redress, and he lowered his arm back down with a frown, stepping closer to a curious shadow on the floor, seemingly coming from the supply closet. Further inspection confirmed his fears as he crouched and swiped a finger through the sticky shadow that had taken on an unfortunate crimson color the closer he got. 

As much as he hated to, he rose and tried the doorknob. It was still locked, but the paperclip he had stashed in the pocket of his jeans made quick work of that problem. 

The door swung open and no matter how many times Jack squeezed his eyes shut and reopened them, Kat's body was still there, green eyes usually so full of light, sparkling against her caramel skin, eerily blank. 

Mind spinning, stuck in a place between the complete relaxation from only moments before and a crushing wave of anxiety that left him nearly frozen in fear, it was only his years of training that left Jack able to step away from the body, trying his best to keep from matching her name and history and facts about her family to the empty eyes staring through him and the trail of blood drying from her lips. Acting entirely on autopilot, brain in a fog, he was suddenly on the phone with Matty, relaying information concisely and, miraculously, without nearly as many of the emotions he was feeling. He didn't remember ending the call. 

He walked to the door on unstable legs, locking it. 

He didn't know how long he stood there in the middle of the room, twisting the shirt in his hands until it was wrinkled beyond what any iron could ever hope to remove, but it must have been some time because the next thing he became aware of was the doorknob rattling as someone tried to open the door and before he had a chance to form a plan, to attempt to talk his way out of what was without question incriminating evidence, Mac was in the room with him. 

"I called Matty," Jack said as he began to question if he, in fact, had done just that. Maybe he had called Mac instead? "Asked her to send someone to handle this." 

"You did," Mac assured, a steady hand landing on Jack's shoulder. "And she is. But she sent me to handle you. I know it's a stupid question but, you okay?" 

"Not really," Jack admitted. "Mac, I... she..." He looked around frantically, struggling to decide on a single question before finally asking "Who?" 

"You didn't see anyone suspicious?" Mac asked, kneeling in front of the body, examining things for himself. "Coming or going?" 

"No, no not who did this," Jack drew a shuddering breath, trying to align his thoughts. "Who was crawlin' all over me? Not that your question isn't a valid one too, but..." 

"Wait, you're done?" Mac stood back up, eyes wide. "I didn't really stop to ask Matty for details, just got here as fast as I could. I assumed you walked in and found her like this." 

"No," Jack shook his head. "She, well, someone, gave me a good rub down. I thought it was... but she's..." 

"Okay, calm down," Mac soothed, reaching down and grabbing Jack's hand, pulling him to the other end of the room and getting the bloody crime scene out of his sight. "We'll talk it out, no wonder you're so freaked. You didn't recognize who it was? Voice, scent, shoes, anything?"

"Naw, but I wasn't really paying attention, you know? This place is supposed to be safe. I've been comin' here for years, everyone who works here checks out. And I'm careful. I've never had a problem till... this."

Mac started a slow, methodical lap around the room, looking for any indication of who they were dealing with. It wasn't until he was on his way back to Jack's side, not finding anything out of the ordinary, that something caught his eye. "Jack?" He asked slowly "I'm gonna need you to not freak out any more than you already are on me, okay?" With a hand, light and nonthreatening on Jack's elbow, he lead him over to the mirror in the corner of the room. "But I think we might have an answer to the who." 

There on his back, front and center between the rise of his shoulder blades, was a splash of red. Mac reached out to touch it, hesitating at the last second, mind reeling at the small but still possible chance of there being evidence hidden in the bloody smear, though the mastermind behind the latest ploy to mess with Jack was fairly obvious by the heart surrounding a double H scrawled across his back. 

Harper Hayes. 

Jack let his eyes slammed close as he realized who was behind it and just how close she had been. He had spent half an hour with her hands crawling all over him, perfectly at ease, and hadn't even noticed. The only reason he was alive to know it was because she wanted him to be.

Falling back to his default setting of deflecting with humor to get through a stressful situation, hoping not to let Mac see just how traumatized the latest invasion of his privacy had left him, he tried for a joke. "I'm, uh, guessin' that's not massage oil, is it?"

"No, big guy," Mac shook his head, face blanching a shade lighter. "I don't think it is." 

"She was here. Right here. Her hands crawlin' all over me," Jack looked around the room that would be starring in his nightmares for months to come, looking for confirmation he didn't really need. "Why am I alive, Mac? She didn't do anything. Didn't say anything, didn't let me know it was her... What the hell?" 

"I guess that was the whole point," Mac sighed. "To let you know that she could do it. To make a point and leave you rattled." 

It was nothing more than a show of dominance. A twisted, boundary-crossing, display of power designed to leave him on edge and intimidated. And it had worked. 

"What now?" 

"Hope the security cameras here and on the streets caught something," Mac shrugged. Being without an idea, a way to solve a problem, was a rarity for him and not something he was not fond of. "Try to track her down." 

"We’ll never find her," Jack's eyes landed back on the dead body in the closet, a life cut far too short for no reason other than to make a point. "Not until she wants to be found." 

"You're probably right," Mac agreed, as much as he hated to admit it. "But she let you walk away. This whole thing was designed to freak you out, don't let her win."

"Too late for that," Jack shook his head. "Mission accomplished."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it!!! The last one!!! 62 fics in a single month! I'm not exaggerating when I say that just two days ago I was freaking out thinking that I couldn't pull this off. But here we are! Thank you so much to every single person who has read these, you are the reason I keep writing. (And I will get around to replying to all the amazing comments, promise.)


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